


Moonlight-Coloured

by cathcer1984



Series: Flowers only [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Detective Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Good Parent Peter Hale, M/M, Post-Canon, Steter Week, Steter Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25436101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathcer1984/pseuds/cathcer1984
Summary: Sitting on the visitor’s chair is an uncomfortable looking man, Captain's secretary, and he's holding a screaming baby at arm’s length away from him. It's hard to guess the age when its limbs are flailing, its face red from crying."Well?" Cap prompts.Making the decision, Stiles moves forward and scoops the baby up. It wriggles and fights, Stiles takes the blanket off, throwing it on the poor man. The baby is hot from all it’s - their- crying. Making shushing noises Stiles pats the child on the butt and sways on his feet. The baby calms a little with its face in Stiles' neck."Cap?" Stiles queries.She nods at him once. "Congratulations Stilinski. Meet your new assignment."*Or the one where Stiles accidentally acquires a baby.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Flowers only [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843582
Comments: 57
Kudos: 519
Collections: Steter Week 2020





	Moonlight-Coloured

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Steter Week 2020, day 1's theme: Accidental Baby Acquisition. 
> 
> A great big huge thank you to Sao for all her help and support and ideas and influence on this fic. Without her this would be half as good and half as long.
> 
> It's the 26th for me, so I'm posting because I'm impatient af.
> 
> EDIT (27/07/2020): [Added in fanart made by the beautiful, wonderful Saori](https://assisreal.tumblr.com/post/624729157975310336/moonlight-coloured-by-cathcer1984-sitting-on-the), go give her some love because this is so amazing!!

Stiles was filling in paperwork when his boss came thundering into the bullpen. Her face was fierce, and the detectives hastily started to look busy. She stands, in her sharp black pantsuit, hands on her hips cutting an intimidating figure. She glares at them all though none of the detectives, Stiles included, is brave enough to meet her eye.

"Which of you has experience in babysitting?" Captain Phillips demands.

They glance around at each other. The bullpen isn't full but it's not empty either. Tentatively Stiles raises his hand, he's babysat a couple of the deputies' kids on his summer breaks. In high school. When he was fourteen. Before Scott got bitten and Beacon Hills became a hell-mound. Besides looking after the Pack puppies totally counts.

With pursed lips she stares around again then points fiercely at Stiles and the only other detective to volunteer. "You two, with me, now."

Stiles scrambles from his desk, knocking papers to the floor but he doesn't stop to pick them up. The other detective is Dash Jones. He's, quite frankly, a dick and Stiles hates him. He crosses his fingers and hopes to hell and back they aren't partnered together.

The captain leads them down the corridor to her office. The door is closed, not unusual but the blinds are shut, which is unusual. She paused in front of the door, took a breath then led them in.

Stiles is overwhelmed by the loud crying.

"What the fuck?" Jones snaps.

Sitting on the visitor’s chair is an uncomfortable looking man, Captain's secretary, and he's holding a screaming baby at arm’s length away from him. It's hard to guess the age when its limbs are flailing, its face red from crying.

"Well?" Cap prompts.

Making the decision, Stiles moves forward and scoops the baby up. It wriggles and fights, Stiles takes the blanket off, throwing it on the poor man. The baby is hot from all it’s - their- crying. Making shushing noises Stiles pats the child on the butt and sways on his feet. The baby calms a little with its face in Stiles' neck.

"Cap?" Stiles queries.

She nods at him once. "Congratulations Stilinski. Meet your new assignment."

"What?" Stiles frowns.

"That baby was at our most recent crime scene. She was kidnapped and then returned to the crime scene after her parents’ car exploded. We cannot turn her over to child protective services because it’s closed for the holidays." Cap nods her head once, tight black curls bouncing against her cheeks.

"Why me?" Stiles asks, even though it's kind of obvious.

"Instinct."

"Shouldn't you have it, Cap?" Jones asks, sticking his nose into the conversation. "As a woman, I mean."

Cap raises her eyebrows. "Not all women have maternal instincts. Get the fuck out Jones, oh and you can clean the drunk tank. Merry Christmas." She stares at Jones until he's out the door. "Her name is Marlow May Hennessy. She's four months old and both of her parents were murdered. You up to the task, Stilinski?"

Resting his cheek against her soft baby hairs, Stiles closes his eyes briefly. How the hell can he say no? "Yes ma'am."

"Go home, work from home. Anthony has some of Marlow's possessions. A diaper bag, a couple of toys and a blanket." Cap nods at her assistant who pulls a bag from the floor next to him, handing it over to Stiles.

"Thanks, man."

*

It doesn't seem to take much longer before Stiles is back at his apartment. In reality it has been about an hour but the time blurred and Stiles is panicking. Marlow is in the middle of his bed surrounded by cushions and still fast asleep. Stiles doesn't think that's normal but what the fuck does he know?

"Scott pick up your goddamned phone." Stiles hisses into the receiver.

"Yo," Scott calls out merrily.

"I need help."

"Supernatural?" Scott is immediately on alert and Stiles smiles a little.

"No but I have acquired a baby, help me!"

"A baby what?"

"Human Scott!" Stiles whisper-shouts. "She's fucking human."

There's a pause while Scott seems to process that. "What do you want me to do, dude? I deal with animals not people."

"Fat lot of fucking good you are." Stiles hangs up on Scott mid-sentence. He rings Derek next because Derek had been around kids right? The Hales were a huge family always procreating.

"What."

"Merry Christmas to you too buddy."

Derek sighs. "What do you want Stiles?"

"I have a situation where I am in charge of a human baby and need some pointers."

"So, you came to me?" Derek's voice gets a bit high-pitched. Stiles is a little proud of himself for causing that.

"No, I came to Santa Claus." Stiles half-shouts. He's desperate and Marlow has begun to cry in the background. "Fuck."

Derek says something but it's drowned in Marlow's suddenly ear piercingly loud yells. Stiles hurries to the bedroom and picks her up. He shushes her as he checks her diaper, still dry so he carries her to the kitchen to warm up some of the milk that was in her diaper bag. But she pushes the teat away, nothing seems to be soothing her.

Frantic Stiles goes back for his phone which he'd left on the bed. Derek has hung up and won't answer when Stiles rings again. With a loud aggravated shout, that only seems to spur Marlow on more, Stiles throws his phone back down.

He's never looked after kids as young as Marlow before and honestly he barely had any time with any of them. An hour after school when one parent was on shift before the other one got home from work. It was easy money.

Marlow is still screaming, and Stiles feels like joining her. He's had the kid for less than two hours and he wants to give up. Stiles has so much more respect for parents now.

There's an unexpected knock on the door, more of a bang to be heard over the screams. Probably a neighbour trying to get him to keep it down. He yanks the door open. "Uh."

"Hello to you too." Peter Hale smirks at him in all his smug glory. "Derek called."

"What are you doing here?" Stiles demands as Peter pushes forward, stripping off his coat, kicking the door shut and taking Marlow from Stiles' arms in the space of a breath.

"I told you Derek called." Peter holds a squalling Marlow up to eye level and flashes his eyes at her. Blue glows out for a second and Marlow is startled enough to stop. Peter tugs her in close and nuzzles her face with his cheek.

"That's not an answer and what are you doing?" Stiles stands with his hands on his hips.

"I thought you were the smart one. Do you need me to spell it out?" Peter glances up at Stiles then focuses his attention on Marlow as he explains. "I live in New York. Derek called me, told me you had a problem with a baby and asked me to help you out."

"Why?"

"Hmm?" Peter blinks slowly. He presses his lips to Marlow's chubby little cheek. "You called him, she was screaming, it had to be bad. And I have experience with children."

" _You_?"

Peter shoots him a dry look. "You have met my niece and nephew. There were others of course, before the fire." He moves to sit on Stiles' worn couch.

"Oh. Other nieces and nephews?" Stiles asks quietly as he sits down. He reaches out to run a finger down the slope of Marlow's nose. Peter smiles, there's a bitter edge to it, as Marlow tries to catch Stiles' finger.

"Yes. And Harrison." Peter's tone is bland. Too bland for Stiles to believe that Harrison was unimportant.

"Harrison was your..." Stiles can't bring himself to say it.

Peter does though. He's never been one for pulling his punches or not prodding at a wound, even his own it seems. "My son, yes. He was a little bit older than this little lady."

"Marlow." Stiles' voice is suddenly hoarse. He coughs to clear it. "Her name is Marlow." He watches carefully as Peter rests her back on his thighs, hands rubbing over her chest, legs, face and sides. He even bends down and trails his nose against her face ignoring the open mouth and fists as she tries to bat him away and eat his cheek.

There’s a tender smile to Peter’s face that kind of breaks Stiles’ heart.

“We need to get her some more supplies.” Peter announces. Marlow is now happily chewing on her fist.

“How?” Stiles stares at her, it’s the first time she hasn’t been crying or sleeping exhausted from crying. “What did you do?”

“I scent marked her.” Peter’s expression flashes with regret for a heartbeat. “She smells like her parents and doesn’t understand why she can smell them but not see them. Isn’t that right, Miss Marlow?”

Stiles drops his head back onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “ _Fuck_.”

“It’s not that bad, Stiles.” It must be that bad if Peter Hale is trying to offer Stiles some comfort.

Stiles bolts upright. “Wait. You scent marked her?”

Peter has an amused expression, “yes,” he says slowly as if Stiles is a complete idiot.

“Then she’s a werewolf?”

“Yes,” Peter pauses. “You didn’t know?”

Shaking his head Stiles blows out a long breath, cheeks bulging out. “No. Jesus, why can’t she just be a normal kid?”

Peter is tickling his hands over Marlow’s feet. “She would have responded to you because you smell faintly of Alpha, especially amongst humans. However, you are neither werewolf nor Alpha and she didn’t like it.”

“I suppose I should get the case file on her parents’ murder.”

“I suppose.” Peter pulls Marlow to his chest, “come on then. No time like the present. We’ll get her some formula, clothes, apples and the case file.”

“Okay.” Stiles shoves himself to his feet, he hasn’t even changed out of his work clothes. “Apples?”

“She’s four months old, correct?” Peter waits for Stiles’ nod. “Then she may start showing an interest in solids. The best way is to stew apples into mush and give her a spoonful or two at dinner time.”

“Oh.” Stiles grabs his coat and slings it over his elbow. He stops by his door, Peter half a step behind, baby cradled against his chest with one arm and holding the diaper bag in his other. “You’re good at this, Peter.”

“Of course.” Peter quirks an eyebrow, hiding behind his arrogance.

Stiles rests a hand on the one on Marlow’s back. “I mean it, you’re a good dad.”

“No.” Peter’s voice is hard. “I’m not a dad. Kate Argent saw to that.” He shoves Stiles out the way, yanks the door open and storms off down the hall. Stiles snatches Peter’s coat and follows along more sedately, he supposes that Peter doesn’t consider himself to be Malia’s dad because he didn’t know about her, thanks to Talia taking his memories. Then having a son die so young, Peter obviously doesn’t think of himself as a dad.

Peter’s waiting in the lobby, foot tapping impatiently. They do a funny sort of dance as Peter tugs his coat on with harsh movements before taking Marlow back tucking her into the folds of the fabric then Peter spins on his heel and is on the street in a flash. Stiles speeds up to catch him before Peter marches off to god knows where with Stiles’ evidence. They walk in un-amiable silence; Marlow has fallen asleep against Peter’s chest.

“She’s asleep again.” Stiles points out, for something to say.

The glare he receives is scathing.

“Peter, I’m sorry. I-”

“Save it.” Peter snaps. He hefts the diaper bag onto his shoulder, takes a deep breath and sighs. “Just, save it Stiles. We’ll get Marlow sorted, get her to the correct authorities and go our separate ways.”

“I-” it dies on Stiles’ tongue. He can’t do that, now that he knows Peter lives in New York Stiles is going to want to know where he lives and works, if he works, and Stiles won’t be able to sit still with Peter on loose in New York. For safety reasons. Obviously. Stiles rolls his eyes at himself.

They reach the precinct in a few minutes with little conversation. Stiles leads them inside, when he steps into the bullpen and Dash Jones starts to cackle.

"Lost the evidence already, Stilinski?"

"No." Stiles sounds petulant even to his ears. "Marlow is right here with my..." He turns and Peter is not behind him but lurking in the hallway. "Peter. Come on in, they don't bite." Stiles smirks.

With a dramatic roll of his eyes and a smirk of his own Peter saunters in to stand at Stiles' side. The whispers start up and while Stiles can't hear what they're saying Peter obviously can. His jaw clenches and the corners of his eyes get tight. "Where is the bathroom? Marlow needs a diaper change."

"Down the hall on the right " Stiles points and Peter nods once, glances around with an authoritative look before striding out.

The detectives stare at him as he goes to his desk. Dash Jones is sniggering behind his hand to his friend Dermot Johnstone. Another dickhead. Ignoring them Stiles pauses when he rounds his desk. He had left in such a hurry with Marlow that he hadn't tidied up the papers that he'd knocked down.

"Huh."

"Oh hey, Stiles." Adam smiles as he walks over. Fresh cup of coffee in his hand, he's just returned from the breakroom. "I didn't think you'd be back in today."

"Did you clean up my mess?"

Adam nods, hiding his grin behind his cup. "Yeah. Sorry."

"No, no dude, don't apologise," Stiles reaches out and places a hand on Adam's shoulder. "Thank you. I only came back to get some files to work on at home."

Adam frowns a little crease forming between his blue eyes. "Yeah I heard Cap gave you a special assignment."

With a roll of his eyes and a snort Stiles replies, "you mean Jones didn't keep his fucking mouth shut."

"Fuck you Stilinski!" Jones calls across the room. He stands behind his desk.

Peter takes that as the perfect moment to reappear. Marlow has been changed completely. She looks a tiny bit adorable in a green onesie covered in dinosaurs. "Oh, aren't you precious," Adam coos. Peter glares at him until he takes a step back, Stiles' hand falling stupidly from his shoulder. He can't believe he held onto Adam that long.

"We had an incident." Peter smirks, handing Marlow over to Stiles. He stays close though, Stiles' shoulder brushing against his chest. "We'll need to get some more baby wipes when we go shopping, sweetheart."

Starling a little at the endearment Stiles glances up from where he's been admiring Marlow so see Peter smirking nastily, eyes fixed on an uncomfortable looking Adam. He elbows Peter hard enough that the werewolf grunts. "Peter this is Adam, he's one of the detectives here. Adam this is Peter, my friend."

Adam nods at Peter once. Peter, ever the asshole, doesn't acknowledge him, just turns his back to stroke his fingers over Marlow's head and back, catching Stiles' hand as he does so. "I better get back to work, Stiles. I leave you to it."

"Alright. Thanks again Adam." Stiles sits at his desk. He shoves Marlow back at Peter and quickly pulls up the case file number he needs. Stiles gets to work printing off the file for Marlow's parents' murder. He ignores Peter, feeling angry at him. It simmers away under the surface, until he’s ready to explode.

He waits until they're in the elevator, case files safely in the diaper bag on Peter's shoulder. "You don't get to do that Peter." Stiles snarls.

Peter gives him a bland look, hands holding onto Marlow firmly. "Do what, precisely?"

"They are my colleagues and my friends; you can't treat them like dirt Peter."

"You don't even like them that much." Peter says as if that's any defence at all. And how the fuck did he know that already?

"I like Adam just fine."

"Indeed. And he likes you too, sweetheart, he'd like you on your back in his bed."

Stiles are suddenly furious. "So, the fuck what? I'm not yours Peter! I am not your Pack; I am not your - your anything."

There's a minute shift in Peter's stance. Marlow starts to whinge, building up to a cry. It causes Peter to soften his body and shush her gently. Helplessly Stiles watches as he rocks her and soothes her down from a crying fit. He blows out a loud breath and when the elevator doors ping open Stiles catches Peter's elbow.

He can't bring himself to say anything though, so much that's been left unsaid for years lies between them and now there's new things to be expressed too. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart." Peter gives Stiles a self-deprecating smile. Then he's striding off, this time tugging Stiles along with him a warm hand around his wrist.

*

After what seems like several exhausting hours later they're back at Stiles' place. On the way home Stiles ordered a pizza to be delivered for seven thirty, it gives them a good couple of hours to get everything ready for Marlow to go to sleep for the evening.

“Are we doing the apple thing tonight?” Stiles asks as he unlocks the door. He’s got Marlow in his arms while Peter is laden with the boxes and bags from their trip, though most of them have been piled into the pushchair they brought. Peter sets the box with the portable cot in by the door.

“Not tonight. I think we need to get her settled. It’s all new for her, new routine, new place, sounds, smells.” He pauses eyeing Marlow and Stiles critically. “New Pack.”

That makes Stiles press his lips to the crown of Marlow’s head, “I know, baby,” he says as she gurgles against him. “It’s all so overwhelming but don’t worry, we’ll take care of you I promise.”

“I’ll go and wash the bottles.” Peter abruptly leaves the room.

Stiles doesn’t think too much about it. He grabs the play mat they’d brought, shakes it out of the frustratingly small plastic bag and sets Marlow on her stomach on it. “Okay, baby girl let’s see some push ups.” Stiles pulls up YouTube on his phone and starts up a premade baby-song playlist. While Marlow squeals and tries to push herself up on her arms, Stiles watches her for a minute then opens a few more of the shopping bags to place some toys on the mat.

As they’d wandered the toy store Stiles had found himself in the soft toy aisle. He had only picked it up as a joke, but hilariously, Marlow had loved it. A fluffy, super soft, cream sheep. It has a sweet, sewn on face, so no buttons for her to swallow. Peter had not been impressed. Possibly because Stiles was laughing so much that other shoppers stared at them. “Here you go, baby girl,” Stiles sets the sheep on the edge of the blanket. “Come and get him, he’s all yours, Marlow.”

Her eyes fix on the sheep and her mouth turns up in an adorable gummy smile. Stiles fumbles his phone out his pocket to take a picture. Obviously he ends up taking a load more than just one. In his defence Marlow has a different expression in each one. She’s too adorable for words and Stiles knows he’s already in too deep, he doesn’t need Peter silently judging him from the kitchen doorway.

“I’ve got everything ready for her bottles tonight.”

Stiles blinks. “Bottles? As in more than one?”

“Yes.” Peter’s lips twist into an amused smirk. “If she wakes up wanting to be fed every couple of hours she’ll be ready for us to try solids tomorrow night.” He stops and Stiles thinks he’s going to say some more, he doesn’t though just starts emptying the clothes out the bags and cutting the tags off with his claws.

“Need some help?”

“I’ve got this. You two keep playing.”

It hasn’t escaped Stiles’ notice that other than holding Marlow and changing her diaper Peter has kept himself away. He’s smarter than Stiles, not getting attached but then again, Peter’s already lost one child Stiles doesn’t know how it would make him feel to lose another.

For the next little while Stiles amuses himself by doing some pushes ups to encourage Marlow to do the same. Eventually though he turns her onto her back and gives her the sheep. “We’ve got to give this guy a name, baby girl. What do you think?”

Marlow gives a happy sound, smiling up at Stiles.

“Yeah? You like that idea, baby girl. How about Lobo? Accalia? Conan?”

“Any particular reason why you’re naming the sheep after wolves?” Peter’s dry tone interrupts.

“Because it’s hilarious, dude.”

There’s a soft laugh and Stiles whips his head around to see the bright amusement in Peter’s eyes. “May I suggest one?”

“Sure. Yes, of course.” Stiles picks Marlow up and sits her on his lap and the sheep on hers so they're all facing Peter. “We’re listening.”

Peter’s whole face softens, and Stiles rethinks his earlier thought, perhaps Peter’s not as unattached as Stiles assumed. “Virginia.”

“Virginia?” Stiles is confused. The look on Peter’s face suggests he’s waiting for Stiles to catch up. It doesn’t take him long, but longer than it should have. “Oh my god. That’s genius. Virginia Woolf!” Stiles struggles to his feet, making sure to keep a tight grip on Marlow. “Let’s go say ‘good job’ to Peter, huh, baby girl?”

The smile on Peter’s face grows sad as Marlow reaches for him with one hand, he takes her easily from Stiles’ arms though and brings her close enough to nuzzle at her cheeks. She’s still holding on to Virginia’s leg with one hand. Marlow makes happy sounds and Stiles snaps another picture, or thousand. Peter’s making a whimpering sound and it influences Marlow, she presses closer to his chest, mouth open and Stiles blushes when he realizes she’s trying to suckle at Peter’s chest through his shirt.

“Time for a bath, little lady,” Peter says calmly. He’s seemingly unaffected by her behaviour, “then you can have your dinner bottle.” Peter switches his gaze from Marlow to Stiles. “You alright to set up the cot?”

“Uh.” Stiles coughs to clear his throat. “Sure, yes. Where should I put it?”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “In the bedroom.”

“I - uh, sure.” Stiles goes to the box by the front door and Peter coaxes Virginia out of Marlow’s hand and replaces it with a brightly coloured bath toy. They disappear into Stiles' tiny bathroom. One day he’s going to have to learn how to bathe her and change her diapers. Stiles can’t just be the fun parent.

He sinks heavily to his knees. _Fuck_. Stiles thinks, berating himself silently, he’s already too emotionally involved. “Right.” Stiles is standing and picking up the box to distract himself from his thoughts.

*

Stiles sits on the couch staring blankly at the tv screen as it plays some food show Peter's watching. They'd put Marlow to bed together, she's tucked up in her cot with the tops each of them had on during the day. She's surrounded by their scents and Peter thinks it'll be enough to help her sleep.

Only now Peter is sitting on Stiles' couch in Stiles’ hoodie that's half zipped up and stretched across his ridiculously muscled chest and shoulders. He has a bottle of beer held delicately between two fingers and it dangles where Peter puts his arm over the armrest. The empty pizza box sits on the floor.

Forcing himself to his feet Stiles folds the box up. "I can do that," Peter says.

"It's alright, you watch your show."

"Idiot doesn't know what he's doing. I mean, who the fuck doesn't know to sift flour before making a cake. Of course, it's got lumps in it." Peter raises his voice as he glares at the man on the screen.

"You know he can't hear you right?"

Peter rolls his eyes. "If people can shout at athletes, I can shout at cooks."

With a shrug Stiles accepts that, it's fair enough. His dad shouts at football games and Stiles himself has been known to join in. Once the pizza box is in his recycling pile and his hands are clean Stiles gets the file out of the diaper bag and sits at his small dining table. Part of him doesn't want to look at it, feels like he's betraying Marlow, but she won't know, and Stiles must find out what happened.

"Do you want me to turn this off?" Peter offers, taking a long, distracting, drag of beer.

"Nah. I usually put the tv on while I work. It's all good." He falls into the zone reading and re-reading the file. Stiles tries to fill in the blanks, every police report is told from someone else's perspective. He just needed to figure out what they left out that wasn't deemed important, if anything.

Marlow's parents were the victims of a car bomb. Stiles will need to dig a little deeper to find out if Hunters were involved, with a glance at Peter stretched out on the couch. The cooking show is over, so he gets up and Stiles pretends he wasn't staring. The tv is left on but Peter has lowered the volume a bit.

"I'm going to bed."

"Okay," Stiles says slowly.

Peter takes his bottle into the kitchen, heads for the bathroom and when he emerges Peter goes to Stiles' bedroom.

"Uh what are you doing?"

"I told you already. You're not that stupid." Peter tips his head to the side. "Then again you might be, you did become a New York detective."

"Ha ha." Stiles deadpans. "You're hilarious. That's my bedroom."

"Yes," Peter answers as though Stiles is stupid. "It's where both baby and bed are."

Stiles splutters.

"No homo of that's what you're concerned about." Peter holds himself a little tensely.

"No!" Stiles shouts, the both freeze waiting to see if he woke Marlow. When she doesn't stir Stiles lowers his voice, "that's not what I meant. I'm an equal opportunity kind of guy. Not that you need to know that. But-"

"You need my help with Marlow." Peter looks fed up. "I will not sleep on the couch. I am going to sleep in a bed like a person should. Join me or not, I don't care what you do. Goodnight Stiles." He spins and soundlessly enters the bedroom door closing behind him.

Stiles lets his head drop loudly onto the table. How does he keep offending Peter? And why the fuck does he care so much? He stays up for another hour making notes on the case, especially things he needs to follow up on.

Quietly he turns off the tv, tiptoes around to make sure all the windows and front door are locked securely. He goes to the bathroom, brushes his teeth, takes a piss and strips down to his boxers and undershirt, leaving his trousers and dirty socks in the bathroom to deal with in the morning. Stiles flicks off the light and makes his way into his own bedroom as quietly as he was trained to enter a suspect's location. He has two werewolves he can't disturb.

The night light he's had since the Nogitsune possession has been turned on. Peter obviously found it by the bedside table on his side of the bed because Stiles never put it on for Marlow. It's embarrassing being a grown man that needs a night light. Nobody has known about it before and Stiles is sure that he'll be made fun of in the morning. Stifling a sigh, he slides under the covers and joins Peter in bed. The werewolf doesn't move, he's asleep with his back to the nightlight, face smoothed out somewhat and Stiles lies down facing him.

It's easy to match his breaths to the slow, deep ones of Peter's slumber. Stiles uses that as his anchor rather than listening to his usual guided meditation. He counts each breath in cycles of ten, in on the odd numbers and out on the even ones. It's incredibly easy for him to slip into sleep.

*

Stiles wakes when Marlow cries, he groans as Peter rolls out of the bed to swoop Marlow out of her cot and out the room. Blinking against the bright light of his phone Stiles sees it’s almost six, might as well start the day early.

On the living room couch Peter, shirtless and wearing only a snug pair of briefs, has Marlow resting in the crook of his arm as he gives her a bottle. Stiles leans against the door frame, watching sleepily. “Did she sleep through the night?”

The look Peter gives him borders on fond. “No, Stiles, she did not.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry about it, I dealt with it.”

He feels a little guilty though, Stiles shuffles across the floor and sits next to Peter. Now that he’s closer he can see the darkness under his eyes and, Stiles sucks in a breath, the stubble along Peter’s jaw. It’s a dignified look. “Do you want to get some sleep now?”

Peter eyes him for a moment, serious in his gaze. “No. I might have a nap when Marlow does. It’s alright, werewolves don’t need as much sleep as humans.”

“Wolves are nocturnal and tend to sleep during the day. Humans are the opposite. You’re a mix of both and I’m supposed to believe you don’t get tired.”

There’s a proud kind of look to Peter’s features. “I’ll be alright for today. You can take tonight’s feedings.”

“Okay.” Stiles grins when Peter’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” Peter takes the empty bottle away and sits Marlow up to rub her back. Stiles learnt yesterday that she doesn’t always need burping and she probably won’t spit up, if she does she’s getting changed anyway.

“That sound you made yesterday, the whine-thingy.”

“It's a noise wolves and werewolves use to show a willingness to feed their young.” Peter gets a sheepish expression and his cheeks pink slightly. “I didn’t realise her mother had done it before feeding Marlow. She obviously sees it as a sign to seek out milk.”

“Cool.” Stiles bobs his head. “You want coffee?”

“Do you have any tea?”

Stiles nods, “yeah. I’ll make you a cup, I only have cheerios for breakfast though.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Mind if I shower?”

“Course not. Come on baby girl, let’s go get you changed before Peter and I have breakfast and you get to play in your brand-new bouncer, how does that sound?” Stiles picks Marlow out of Peter’s arms, desperately ignoring the way his fingers and back of his hand brush against Peter’s chest hair and skin. Marlow is a warm weight and she smiles at him, hand reaching out and smacking his cheek.

“Yeah, okay, good morning to you too baby girl.” Stiles brings her close to press a kiss to her cheek. He catches sight of Peter’s expression, it’s carefully restrained heartbreak. Stiles used to see it a lot on his dad’s face, still does, when Stiles does or says something that’s particularly Claudia-esque. He holds Marlow back towards Peter, “say good morning to Peter too, baby.”

She reaches for him and, unlike with Stiles, does not smack him in the face. Probably because Peter is too quick, he leans forward and gives her a gentle peck on her forehead. There’s a moment when he just pauses and breathes her in, it’s over too soon and Peter pulls back with a small but genuine smile. “Good morning, Miss Marlow.”

Satisfied, Stiles brings her back into his chest. “Let’s go and see what we can wear today. It’s a special day today, baby girl.” He walks into the bedroom and sets her down in the middle of his bed. On top of Stiles’ drawers there’s a pile of clothes folded neatly; Peter must have done that sometime in the night. He pulls an outfit off the top of the pile and holds it up for Marlow to see, she gives him a gummy smile and tries to reach for it. “Good enough, baby girl? It’s a good Christmas Eve outfit. Don’t say anything but I think Peter got you a super special outfit for tomorrow. I’m pretending I don’t know, so you can’t either. Okay?”

Unable to stop himself, Stiles bends over to kiss her cheek, he pulls off the onesie she slept in and blows a raspberry against her belly. He does it again and again, Marlow kicks him in the face a few times but she’s happy and Stiles is laughing too.

“This does not look like getting breakfast ready.”

Stiles startles enough that he accidentally smooshes his face into Marlow’s stomach, at the sound of Peter’s voice she cries out and knees Stiles in the jaw. Sheepishly, Stiles looks up at Peter and swallows down what he was going to say. Peter is standing in the doorway with a towel around his waist. “You - uh need some clothes?”

“No, I planned on staying like this all day.” The sarcasm just drips off Peter's tongue, Stiles didn’t need the eye roll as well.

“Cool.” Stiles bobs his head and starts to get Marlow dressed properly, manipulating her legs into the trousers. “It’s totally okay by me, I don’t mind the view, but you might get a little cold. And-” Stiles is cut off when the damp towel hits him in the face. He splutters and flails around, by the time he’s got it on the floor next to him Peter has pulled on a pair of Stiles’ briefs and isn’t that just weird. The material stretching across the muscles in his ass, Peter tugs his jeans on, and Stiles’ view is gone.

“I’ll take a top.” Peter folds his arms across his chest.

Stiles bites down the childish urge to add _so would I_. “Sure. Let me just finish dressing Marlow.” When Marlow is fully dressed in a warm, winter appropriate outfit Stiles hands her Virginia to hold while he opens a drawer to pull out a top for Peter. It’s a dark navy-blue jumper, soft and warm and expensive. “Here, this should fit. Do you want to go to yours to get some clothes?”

“Have you seen the weather?” Peter holds the jumper up and eyes it critically. “Snow’s started. This is not subpar.” He pulls it on, it mostly fits, sleeves and torso a little long but it fits over his muscles.

“Careful Peter, I might get ideas that you're impressed.”

“Never.” Peter sneers, but he breaks it by smiling at Marlow. He picks her up and holds her close. “Though it doesn’t seem to fit in with you and your hoodies.”

Stiles rubs the back of his neck, suddenly grateful for the bed between them. “It used to belong to my ex. But I got it for him for his birthday, so I paid for it and therefore I get to keep it.”

Peter had gone very still as soon as Stiles mentioned his ex. Stiles waits him out, nothing is forthcoming though. Peter just spins on his heel and takes Marlow out the room. It’s weird now. Stiles isn’t sure if he should follow Peter out and explain or if he should hide for a bit in the bathroom while he gets ready for the day.

Slowly he picks out some clothes and carries them to the bathroom. Before he steps in though he turns to face where Peter is sitting on the couch with Marlow sitting up on his lap, his hands hovering just in case she unbalances.

“Are you- do I make you uncomfortable?”

“Yes, often.” Peter purses his lips but when he catches sight of Stiles his face turns serious. “No, not with your sexuality. I didn’t realise you were in such a serious relationship.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that serious..”

“You brought him a birthday present...” Peter trails off without actually asking a question.

Stiles grins. “I did. But I’ve also brought Isaac birthday presents so that doesn’t mean shit does it?”

“I suppose not.” Peter smirks.

“We good?”

“Yes Stiles, we’re good.” Peter turns his attention fully back to Marlow. “Hurry up, I want breakfast sooner rather than later.”

With a small laugh Stiles slips into the bathroom, he’s promised to make Peter tea after all.

*

By late morning the snow was falling steadily. Marlow was down for a nap before lunch, Peter reckoned she'd have a couple of hours or so. Then, he’d explained, she’d have a bottle for lunch, some play time and an afternoon nap, then the same routine as yesterday before bed.

Stiles was looking more in depth at Marlow's parents' file. The Hennesseys never belonged to a Pack, it was just the three of them and their car had been blown up on purpose. Looking at the photos Stiles felt sick, he's not worked a case like this before. Usually he gets thefts and break-ins not homicide.

"Stiles?" A warm hand grips the back of his neck and he's startled. Peter shushes him soothingly as he slides into the chair next to Stiles. "You're alright."

"Sorry." Stiles can't help gripping the sleeve of Peter's jumper.

"Don't apologise. Your heart was going crazy. You didn't hear me the first few times I called your name either." Peter's hand moves from Stiles' neck down to rub between his shoulder blades. "Breathe, sweetheart, just breathe."

It takes a few minutes for Stiles to get back control of himself. He hasn't had to deal with the supernatural like this since high school. "Are you going to tell me what that was about?" Peter's voice is soft, not the tone Stiles was expecting from him.

"The Hennessey case."

"Marlow's parents?"

"Yeah." Stiles finally let go of the fabric of Peter's sleeve he'd been twisting in his fingertips to flip open the file. "Their car was rigged with a bomb. I don't get it."

"Hunters will go after any Pack, big or small, code following or not."

"No. I mean yes I know that," he reaches back over to squeeze Peter’s hand in sympathy. "I don't get why Marlow was kidnapped. She was kidnapped and then returned to the scene.”

"Maybe they didn’t want to kill a baby?"

"Maybe." Stiles isn't convinced.

"Or..." Peter starts to speak.

Stiles raises his eyebrows, "go on."

"Or there's something else the police haven't accounted for." Peter lifts a shoulder, "just a thought."

It makes Stiles think, that's for sure. Peter has always been good at that. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

“The whole thing. Why am I on this case? Why did I get Marlow? Why was she out of the car? Who is involved? What Hunter families are in New York?”

“Slow down.” Peter suggests. “Let’s start at the beginning, why wouldn’t you be on this case?”

Stiles shrugs, a tad self-conscious. “I’ve only ever done non-violent crimes. Theft, drugs, gambling, bribery. Never any homicide, and definitely not a fucking car bomb.”

Peter sits back in his chair, hand falling away from Stiles’ back leaving a coldness in its absence. He looks thoughtful. “Let’s table that then. Next topic, why you’re the one looking after Marlow. What exactly happened?”

“Cap came out and asked who had babysitting experience. She looked right at me, so I put up my hand. I’ve babysat for some of the deputies back home, when I was like fourteen and their kid was like eight or ten or whatever.” Stiles waves his hand around. “Another detective, Dash Jones, who is a dick by the way, came but Cap threw him out after he was sexist. And that’s how I got Marlow.”

“Cap?” Peter tips his head.

“Yeah, our Captain. Myra Phillips.”

Peter hums, “I wonder if that’s the same Myra Phillips Talia knew.” He shakes it head, “well she was Myra Holden back then, changed her name to Phillips when she got married.”

“I doubt it.” Stiles says, a little dubiously though.

“Does she have a scar just here?” Peter draws a finger from the edge of his earlobe down across the lower part of his cheek and stops just below the corner of his mouth.

“What the fuck.” Stiles nods.

Then, Peter laughs. Not his usual smug chuckle but a full-bodied laugh. “Stiles,” Peter half gasps out as the laughter dies but his smile lingers. “Myra Phillips is a Mage. She used to live in Beacon Hills, Myra was a friend of Talia’s. Heck, Talia gave her that scar.”

“I- what?” Stiles frowns and Peter laughs some more, the asshole. “A Mage?”

“Think of it as a cross between a Druid, like Deaton, and a Witch. A mage has magic though they tend to stay on the outskirts of the Supernatural, directing and quietly mentoring other magic users. They can sense Pack ties, it’s probably why Myra let you have Marlow. She would have known Marlow is a werewolf, sensed the ties to the Hale Pack on you. Also, she knew some of the deputies in Beacon Hills so probably was already aware that you had experience in babysitting.”

Stiles is stunned. He sits back in his chair with a think. “Well that explains a few things.”

“Does it?”

“God. What am I going to say to her?”

Peter becomes very serious, very quickly. “Nothing. You don’t let Myra know that you know. If she didn’t tell you, she didn’t want you to know.”

“I guess.”

“I’m serious Stiles.” Peter’s hand comes across the table to grip Stiles’ wrist too tight. “You don’t let on; Mages can be very dangerous. They aren’t bound by the balance laws of the world like a Druid, they don’t have a Coven to temper them like witches. Mages are a law unto themselves and if they want to help the world or destroy it there is little to stop them.”

“I get it.” Stiles says firmly, he tries to pull his arm back, but Peter just grips him tighter. “I get it Peter. Jesus Christ, I’m not going to fuck it up. I’m not even going to see her for a while.” He nods at the window where the snow is falling outside and tugs his arm again. “You’re hurting me.”

Instantly Peter lets go, his eyes drop to Stiles’ left wrist. The skin is pale where his fingers had been putting pressure and redness in between. Abruptly he stands, “I’m going to check on Marlow.” Peter disappears behind the bedroom door and Stiles pulls his wrist to his chest. It’s sore and achy, it’s going to bruise so with a sigh Stiles heads to the kitchen to root around in the freezer for his ice pack. Wrapping it in the tea towel Stiles then holds it around his wrist as he stares out the living room window at the snow falling over the street and buildings.

This whole situation is going from bad to worse. Marlow isn’t awake, Stiles knows this, but Peter is hiding from him anyway. Stiles could go into his own damned bedroom and talk to him. Something is making him stop though, part of him doesn’t want to see Peter, part of him is afraid.

Peter is so much stronger than Stiles, he could have easily broken the bones in Stiles’ wrist without a thought and that terrifies Stiles because he’s been out of the dangerous Supernatural world for years now. The Pack has settled in Beacon Hills so when he returns there’s nothing to fight. In New York there’s no Nemeton, it’s got its underworld of Supernatural beings though they keep to themselves enough that Stiles has no need for mountain ash or wolfsbane or his baseball bat. Well, he still keeps that next to his bed in case of a robber or something and it’s still instinct to reach for his bat over his gun.

With a sigh, Stiles glances at the bedroom door. He doesn’t know what to do, should he go in? Should he stay out? Should he hightail it into the snow and take his chances against the elements?

Ultimately the decision is taken out of his hands when the bedroom door opens and Peter, with a docile Marlow against his chest, steps out. He halts when he catches sight of Stiles, eyes dipping down to his wrist and his face does something complicated like shame or regret before settling on impassiveness.

They stand at opposite ends of Stiles’ small apartment, the space between them not enough and at the same time too much. Peter moves first, he goes slowly, his movements deliberate as he puts Marlow in her bouncer with Virginia. She smiles when she sees Stiles and he gives her a small wave, wincing when it twinges his wrist. Peter comes to stand before him and he holds a hand out, palm upwards.

“May I?”

Stiles unwraps the ice pack and tosses it onto the floor. His whole wrist is red from the cold and it aches as he places it on Peter’s palm.

Stiles is watching Peter’s face more than his hands as he runs his fingers over Stiles’ skin, pushing and pressing. There aren’t any broken bones, Stiles knows this, and he doesn’t think anything is sprained, it’s just tender from being held too tightly. It’ll bruise, that should be the worst of it.

“I must apologise.” Peter says quietly. “I forgot myself.”

“It’s fine.” Stiles dismisses him, it’s awkward hearing Peter Hale, of all people, apologise.

“No, it isn’t. Never diminish something as serious as this, Stiles.” Peter catches Stiles’ gaze.

With a sigh Stiles explains, “I’m not, Peter. I know how serious this is and how bad it could get especially because you’re so much stronger than I am. My wrist is fine, it’s a little tender but nothing is broken. I’m not as fragile as I once was.”

“You were never fragile, sweetheart, what you _are_ is human and I forgot that for a moment.” Peter’s still holding Stiles’ hand between both of his, it’s creating an intimacy that Stiles is both excited and uncomfortable with. “You would make a magnificent wolf.”

“I’m not going to be one.” Stiles states.

“Oh, I know, but a beta can dream, can’t he?” Peter smirks and Stiles responds with a grin. Just like that the tension is broken. Unable to stop, or second guess himself, Stiles surges forward to wrap his arms around Peter in a tight hug. He intends to make it hard and quick however when Peter brings his arms from between their chests to around Stiles’ waist the hug goes on for a lot longer than Stiles intended. It’s also a lot nicer than Stiles thought it would be, not that he’d spent a great deal of time thinking about hugging Peter Hale, of course.

*

The rest of the afternoon is spent with the two of them playing with Marlow and giving her their attention when she’s awake. When she’s asleep Stiles works on the case and Peter watches the food network.

They’ve settled into the routine of Marlow and each other with a terrifying ease. In the evening after Marlow is in bed with a full tummy after success with a spoonful of mashed apple. They sit on the couch and Peter keeps looking at Stiles from the corner of his eye, it's distracting him from the Star Wars movie he'd put on.

"Oh god just say it." Stiles snaps over the top of Leia professing her love to Han. "Whatever it is Peter just spit it out." He braces himself, fingers trailing to the tender, bruised skin of his left wrist.

"It's Christmas Eve Stiles." Peter's voice is soft.

"Uh yeah." Stiles shoots him an amused look; his merriment dies when Stiles sees the sombre expression on Peter's face. Deliberately Peter turns to look around the apartment and Stiles follows his gaze even though he knows what Peter is seeing. And, more importantly, what he isn't.

"We don't really celebrate Christmas. Me and dad." Stiles explains the moment Peter's gaze is back on him. "He usually works, back when I was a kid and he had to cover mom's medical bills."

Peter's eyebrows come together.

"It's fine. No big deal. I mean it, Peter. Don't give me that fucking look." Stiles crosses his arms over his chest holding himself tightly.

"I'm sorry."

"Two apologies in one day, you sure you're the real Peter Hale?" Sarcasm and bitterness fill Stiles' tone.

"Ah that one was an expression of sympathy." Peter offers a genuine smile. He looks so fucking comforting in Stiles' jumper, with his kind blue eyes and damned stubble covering his jaw. Stiles half wants to curl into him and run away at the same time. He hasn't let anyone get this close to him since Scott, when they were five, and Stiles didn't know better about how much hurt other people can inflict when you give them ammunition and the gun.

"Okay."

"Is it alright if we do presents with Marlow tomorrow?" Peter is strangely hesitant.

"Course." Stiles grins crookedly at him. "I know you already got her a present."

"Yes, I heard you telling her this morning." Peter laughs, tapping his ear.

Stiles chuckles. "Cheat."

"Werewolf." Peter corrects his eyes flashing. They don't go back to normal until he blinks a few times, face turned away from Stiles.

"We can do Christmas tomorrow, Peter." Stiles puts a hand on Peter's shoulder. "I doubt Marlow will miss the tree, but we can have the presents and the annoying music. I have some chicken soup in the freezer that Melissa gave me at Thanksgiving. Closest I've got to turkey and the trimmings."

"We used to have venison." Peter has a faraway look. "When I was a child, Talia kept up the tradition with her children. Derek always hated it."

"Why?"

The smirk is back. "I may have let slip that the Alpha goes into the Preserve at midnight on Christmas Eve to hunt the deer down. There may have been an implication of one-year Santa not being quick enough. He went down to seven reindeer when Derek was about ten. Prancer was a delicious dinner though."

"Oh my god that's terrible." Stiles is laughing though.

"I honestly thought he'd grown out of his belief in Santa by then, Cora had, and she was seven." Peter hums a laugh, "I think Laura spilled the beans eventually."

"That is brilliant." Stiles can't stop picturing little Derek, still with the eyebrows, frowning at his plate. "We can have venison next Christmas if you want, and a tree."

"I'd like that. Next year we'll make a big deal of it, Marlow will be old enou-" Peter cuts himself off abruptly.

It takes Stiles a minute to catch up. Next year they won't have Marlow, hell they won't even have each other. The mood sours drastically and they spend the rest of the night maintaining careful distance from each other, Stiles hadn't even paid attention to how close they had gotten until it was taken away.

*

Christmas morning dawns with Marlow crying and the bed rocking as Peter gets out. Stiles groans and shoves his face under the pillow. He'd been doing the night feeds, Peter nudging him awake when he was needed.

Moments later Marlow, with only a clean diaper on is placed in the middle of the bed, Peter slips in next to her. Stiles pulls his head out and runs a hand over Marlow's chest. "Hey baby girl, it's your first Christmas," Stiles murmurs. "Are you excited? It's a wonderful time of year baby girl, and you're going to love it." She simply sticks her fist in her mouth.

"I'll go and get her bottle." Peter pushes the covers back again.

"I can get it," Stiles offers half-heartedly though Peter is out of bed by the time he's finished his sentence. "We can do presents when you get back, if you want?"

"I'd like that." Peter’s gone in a second and Stiles occupies himself and Marlow with raspberries on her belly and kisses over her cheeks. He may even pretend to chomp on her legs and arms.

When Peter gets back he sits up against the headboard and hands Stiles the bottle before settling Marlow in the crook of his arm to feed her. She gulps it down steadily. Stiles feels his chest ache with how right it feels to have these two werewolves in his bed. He knows it won't last and Stiles isn't going to focus on that though, not today.

Instead of dwelling he reaches under the bed to pull out the present Peter had gotten for Marlow, it's in a paper bag because Stiles didn't have any wrapping paper. "When you're ready baby girl, you can have your first Christmas present ever." Stiles swallows passed the lump in his throat, he reached out to touch the back of her head. Peter's eyes intense on him as he says "I'm sorry your mom and dad aren't here. Peter and I will do our best to make it a good one."

Peter's warm hand comes across to grip the back of Stiles' head. He pulls him closer, until Stiles is resting against Peter's chest, with chest hair scrunching under his cheek where he's face to face with Marlow and her bottle. Relaxing into the warmth Stiles watches her drain the bottle, he takes it away but they don't move otherwise.

It's the best Christmas morning Stiles has had in a long time. As Peter scratches his fingers through Stiles' hair he figures it's time to start the day or he’ll fall asleep again.

"Are you ready for your present? Yeah? I thought so."

Marlow bangs her hand against Peter's chest and he rumbles a laugh. Stiles sits up and holds up the paper bag, she reaches for it and with some help from Peter Marlow gets the present out. It's an outfit. A set of leggings with red and white stripes, a gold tutu and a red top with white writing saying _Baby’s First Christmas_.

"What's this? A special Christmas day outfit, look here," Stiles tosses the bag down and shows her the top. "It says baby's first Christmas. That's you baby girl, and you're going to be the best looking baby girl ever. Isn't she?"

"Indeed." Peter's eyes are crinkled at the corners. "The most beautiful baby girl we've ever seen, Miss Marlow."

Unfortunately, Marlow isn't as interested in the outfit as she is in the bag. Peter hands her over to Stiles so she can explore the bag. Mostly she waves it around smiling as it bangs into the bed and Stiles' shoulder. The outfit is carefully folded up and put on the dresser by Peter who reaches underneath it pulling out another paper bag. It's brown, thin and rectangular.

"This is for you." Peter hands it over to Stiles.

"Peter," he doesn't know what to say.

"Just open it."

Stiles sits Marlow on her bum, she holds herself up reasonably well until she waves the bag and falls backwards. Taking the bag Stiles feels a bit ashamed, "I didn't get you anything. Either of you."

"It's alright." Peter sits back on the bed and gives Stiles most of his attention, though his eyes slide to where Marlow is playing happily. "Open it."

Two books come out of the bag when Stiles tips it. They're brand new. _I Love You To The Moon And Back_ and _Papa Please Get The Moon For Me_. Peter taps a finger against the first one "this was a staple in the Hale household since it came out. There was a worn copy passed from person to person, but each child got their own copy too. We had so many copies of that damned book and everyone saying, ‘I love you to the moon and back’, then howling." Peter quirks an eyebrow.

Stiles knows he's smiling. He holds up the other one, "and this one?"

"My own tradition. I got one for Harrison and I thought Marlow should have one too." Peter's jaw clenches.

"Thank you," both of them know Stiles isn't just thanking him for the books. "Merry Christmas, Peter." Stiles leans in to press a kiss to his cheek.

Peter's face is a picture of pleasant surprise.

"Come on baby girl, what do you think?" Stiles moves her to sit propped on a pillow next to Peter’s hip, he holds the book open in front of her and starts to read. " _Once upon a time there was a little girl named Monica. One night before Monica was about to go to bed, she looked out of her window and saw the moon._..."

As Stiles reads he notices Peter’s claws despite the loose fists he curls his hands into, trying to hide them.

“ _...She was happy to see the Moon again in the sky._ ” Stiles closes the book, Marlow hasn’t moved much she seemed to like looking at the pictures and hearing the story. However; when he looks up at Peter, Stiles sees that along with the claws coming out, his eyes are bright beta blue. “Peter.”

“I’m fine.” Peter responds gruffly, getting out of bed with harsh jerky movements. Stiles can’t tell if Peter is angry or not. Marlow’s little face screws up and she starts to cry, Peter pauses, muscles in his back tensing before he continues out the room.

Stiles cuddles Marlow to his chest, it breaks his heart because she keeps reaching her hand out for Peter. Awkwardly Stiles untangles himself from the covers without bending the pages of the books and keeping Marlow close despite her wiggling. “Hush, baby girl, it’s alright. I’m here. I’m here, baby girl.”

As he squeezes through the small space between the end of the bed and her cot Stiles grabs Virginia, holding her close to Marlow despite the little sheep being pushed away. Trying to reign in his anger Stiles kisses Marlow on the head as she cries. He shushes almost constantly against her ear, patting her on bum in an attempt to calm her. Nothing works.

In the living room Peter is sitting on the couch with his head hanging down, claws pricking against the skin of his neck. Stomping round the sofa Stiles shoves Marlow and Virginia into Peter's chest forcing him to cradle her. For all his animalistic appearance, Peter has slipped into his beta shift, he's incredibly gentle as he takes her. Marlow doesn't stop crying but she does settle and Peter gives a wolfish whine that has Marlow nuzzling into his neck.

"What the fuck is going on?" Stiles demands.

"I lost control."

Stiles isn't entirely sure he'd heard right. Peter is a born wolf; his control has always been impeccable. "What the fuck does that even mean?"

Marlow cries louder. Peter glares at Stiles. "It would help her if you weren't so loud."

"It would help me if you weren't so secretive." Stiles snaps. He forces himself to take a deep breath and sinks onto the couch knees banging into Peter’s. Stiles reaches out and rests his hand on Marlow's back.

Slowly, eventually, she settles.

Stiles kept his hand on her back, sometimes stroking mostly just resting there. Peter does his whine thing, he shushes her and as Marlow's cries taper off he starts to sing, breathily and rough.

"Hush little baby don't you cry, papa's gonna sing you a lullaby."

"Oh Peter." Stiles' heart breaks for the man before him. "Give her here," for a moment Stiles thinks Peter isn't going to hand Marlow over but he does. Stiles takes her and then sits on Peter's lap himself. The three of them cuddle together while Peter keeps singing, voice rough.

It's not the lyrics Stiles heard as a kid but maybe the Hales sung different ones or maybe Peter is just making them up. Sometimes Stiles laughs, mostly he just sits with his back against the arm of the couch and Marlow in his lap, both facing Peter.

"She's asleep." Peter whispers. Even in his beta shift the look he gives her if half longing, half fondness.

"You're an omega." Stiles grits out. He's smart enough to put two and two together.

"No." Peter shakes his head. "Not quite." He closes his eyes and slowly, in a way that looks almost painful, his human features come back.

"I've never seen you so out of touch with your wolf."

"I'm not." Peter rests a hand on Stiles' leg, just above his knee. "I don't have as much contact with my Pack as a werewolf should."

"Oh."

"It's not your fault sweetheart." Peter looks wrecked. His eyes are bloodshot, his stubble is too long to be sexy but not long enough to be a beard and his hair is still wild from sleep. "I took myself away from my Pack and my Pack land. I thought I'd be alright with a couple of visits a year."

"But you're not."

"But I am not." Peter agrees. "It doesn't help that I don't visit when the whole Pack is around."

Stiles suddenly feels the old anger surging again. “Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?” He tries to keep his voice low so he doesn’t wake Marlow.

Peter just raises an eyebrow.

It pisses Stiles off even more. “You know what?” Stiles whisper shouts, “fuck you Peter.” Stiles glares at him, his body is tense, and he feels so fucking ridiculous sitting on Peter’s lap while being so damned angry at him. He wants to scream in his face, but he can’t because of Marlow. “You had no right to come here when you’re so out of control.”

“I am not out of control.” Peter snaps. His eyes flash, and the fact that he has to blink a few times to clear them is proof that he is.

“See.” Stiles hisses. “You are and you’re a goddamned danger.”

“Oh, am I?” Peter lifts his hands up in the air. “Why are you still on my lap then, Stiles? Huh?”

Stiles scrambles off, holding onto Marlow. He bares his teeth at Peter when his hands come forward to steady Stiles as he unbalances. Peter pulls his hands back, snarling, fangs poking over his lip. With one hand cradling Marlow, Stiles takes a few stumbling steps back, breathing heavily.

He ends up backing himself into the wall as Peter surges off the couch and stalks across the floor towards them. Stiles twists so Marlow is behind him as much as she can be. This causes Peter to stop moving, his eyes drop down to where Marlow is partially hidden by Stiles.

“I would never hurt her.” Peter slurs around his fangs.

“You hurt me.” Stiles bites out.

The fight seems to leave Peter at once, his shoulders slump and the wolf-features recede. “I might be having some trouble controlling my wolf.”

It’s the closest to an apology Stiles is going to get.

"What can I do?"

"Stiles." Peter’s head comes up and he looks lost. It’s a strange feeling for Stiles because Peter has always been so sure of himself, so confident in his wolf and his human. Now, though, Peter’s relying on him and that frightens Stiles.

Shaking his head, Stiles stops Peter from speaking. "You're my Pack. Hell, we're co-parenting and stuck in this apartment until the snowstorm ends. What can I do?"

"Physical contact. I need to scent mark you. My instincts are stronger than usual. I want to provide for you and Marlow."

"Okay, you can provide breakfast while I shower, and Marlow has her morning nap a little early." Stiles smiles gently at Peter. His heart is still beating hard in his chest. Stiles untwists his body, so Marlow held a little more gently in his arms. "We'll get through this."

"Thank you."

Stiles takes tentative steps closer to Peter. In a great show of trust, he presses Marlow into Peter’s arms and then kisses Peter on the cheek, if his lips linger longer than they should there's no one to call him out on it. "We're Pack." Stiles replies. It's as simple as that.

*

When Stiles gets into the bedroom after his shower, the bed is made and the Christmas outfit for Marlow is gone. Hopefully that means Peter has gotten her dressed. Stiles makes a rash decision; he pulls the jumper Peter had been wearing yesterday out of the hamper and tugs it on along with his jeans and the only Christmas clothing he owns - a pair of socks that look like Santa.

Peter’s in the kitchen, also dressed, Marlow strapped to his chest with a blanket tied like one of those wrap things. He's wearing another top of Stiles' and it fits snugly across his shoulders. Peter turns and his nostrils flare as his eyes rove over Stiles.

Holding his arms out Stiles grins, "good?"

"I especially like the socks." Peter smirks. "Sit down, breakfast is almost ready."

After a few minutes of Stiles watching Peter in the kitchen from his small table, he comes across with two plates in his hands. He puts one down in front of Stiles and one for himself before popping back to the kitchen for Stiles’ coffee and his own tea. Marlow is carefully placed in her bouncer, looking adorable in her special outfit. Stiles immediately takes a picture even though she's asleep. Then he takes one of the soft expression on Peter's face.

"This looks amazing." Stiles picks up his fork. "I can't believe you made French toast."

Peter perks up under the praise, smug smile finding its way to his face. He looks more like the Peter Hale of old.

"I didn't even know I had the ingredients for this."

"That doesn't surprise me." Peter rolls his eyes. "I got the soup out of the freezer as well."

Stiles picks his mug up and holds it towards Peter.

"Cheers," Stiles waits and Peter, with a put-upon sigh of suffering, lifts his cup to clink them together.

"Happy Christmas, Stiles."

"Happy Christmas Peter. One of the best I've had in years."

Peter has paused in his eating, head tipped to the side. "You're not lying."

"Nope, even with-" Stiles flaps a hand in the direction of the couch "-everything. And I know it's not over, this has been one of the best Christmases I've had."

There's a look on Peter's face that resembles pity, he doesn't comment on it though. Instead all he says is "eat your breakfast."

Stiles does. It's delicious.

Marlow wakes up not long into the meal, she squeals at them until Peter takes her out of the bouncer and sits her on the tabletop. The plates and mugs out of her reach.

"Don't you look pretty, baby girl." Stiles takes up his phone again. "Smile," he takes a picture of Marlow, Peter in the background. It's a great photo and he sets it as his phone's screensaver. Stiles notices the time and says, "I'll have to ring my dad soon."

"I should call Derek too." Peter grimaces. "He won't be happy I didn't let him know what was going on when I got here."

"Ah Derek's always grumpy." Stiles grins, he says to Marlow, "he is. Derek is very grumpy. You have to learn to speak in eyebrows. Yes, you do."

"Go on, call your dad. I'll clean up here. Miss Marlow can have some tummy time with Virginia."

"You cooked; I should wash up."

Peter puts his hand on Stiles' arm. "Let me do this."

"Ah, wolfie instincts." Stiles nods, "go on then." Peter goes back into the kitchen and Stiles takes Marlow to the living room area, he puts her on her playmat with Virginia and sits nearby and dials his dad.

"Hey kiddo," his dad sounds tired when he answers, having just got off a double shift if Stiles has timed it right.

"Merry Christmas dad."

There's a puff of laughter, "Merry Christmas to you too Stiles. How're you keeping?"

"Good, fine, a-okay."

"Stiles."

"I have a baby. Shit, fuck, no." Stiles slaps a hand to his forehead, and he can hear Peter laughing in the kitchen. "It's a case, she's a case."

"Start at the beginning."

"Her name is Marlow. She's adorable and CPS is closed for the holidays and now there's the snowstorm. I'm looking after her." Stiles waggles Virginia encouraging Marlow to push up on her elbows or hands. "Her parents were killed in a car bomb. Werewolves, probably hunters and Marlow's only four months."

His dad is silent.

"Dad?"

"I'm here. You're looking after a kid? Alone?"

"No not alone." Stiles lowers his voice even though Peter will still hear. "Peter’s here."

"Peter Hale?"

"Yep."

"Christ, kiddo. You don't do things by half." Stiles is sure his dad is trying not to laugh at him. "I guess you have your hands full, huh?"

"That's for damned sure." Stiles says wryly. "I wish you could meet her dad, she's so awesome."

"Oh boy. You can't keep her Stiles." Dad's voice is firm. It's like a bucket of ice water has been thrown over him. "Don't get attached."

"Um."

"You're already attached." It's not a question, his dad knows him too well. "Oh kid it's going to break your heart to part with her."

"I know. Fuck dad, I know but better to have loved than lost right?"

"Just be careful," his dad says before changing the topic. They chat for another half an hour or so about Beacon Hills and the people in it. Stiles' heart isn't in the conversation, not really, and he thinks his dad can sense that. When they have said their goodbyes Stiles hangs up and sets the phone on the tv stand.

"Are you alright?"

Stiles looks up at Peter. He nods, it's easier to pretend so they don't break this truce that's settled over them. There's no need to prod the sleeping bear when it's going to wake up soon enough away. Peter, generously, doesn't call him on the lie. He just sits down on the floor in front of the couch shoulder pressing against Stiles’ as they watch Marlow playing.

*

A little later after their reheated chicken soup lunch and Marlow is down for her afternoon nap, Peter approaches Stiles. He stands hovering at the edge of Stiles’ vision where he’s playing on his phone. “Peter.”

“I need to call Derek.”

Stiles glances up at him. “Right.”

“I am reluctant to do it.”

“I can see that.” Stiles tosses his phone onto the couch cushions next to him. “Want me to call him?”

Peter contemplates that for a second, sighing as he shakes his head. “Better not. You could stay though.”

Stiles is pretty certain that’s what Peter wanted all along, but he couldn’t ask for it like a normal person. Playing it cool Stiles grins, “sure thing dude.”

As soon as he’s speaking Peter sits on the couch, moving Stiles’ phone to the arm. He holds his phone to his ear after thumbing through the screen. Stiles can see the tension in Peter’s shoulders.

“Hello nephew,” Peter says once Derek answers. Stiles thinks _fuck it_ and he forces himself against Peter’s side, burrowing under his shoulder and pressing close. Peter doesn’t relax, not fully but the tightness in his muscles eases.

Stiles can hear the indistinct murmur of Derek’s response.

“Yes, he’s still alive. So is Marlow, the baby. That’s right.” Peter’s voice is warm and comforting. Stiles rests heavily against his chest, his stomach is full and Peter’s so warm. The last thing Stiles is aware of Peter saying is “I called to wish you a happy birthday, to talk to _you_ , Derek, not to update you on Stiles Stilinski.”

Hiding his smile into the soft fabric beneath his face Stiles closes his eyes and falls asleep.

*

When he wakes up they’re still on the couch, though Peter is no longer on the phone and his fingers are stroking through the strands of Stiles’ hair. Stiles stretches as he comes into consciousness and ends up arching firmly into Peter’s body. The fingers in his hair still momentarily. “You’ve been asleep just under an hour.” Peter’s voice is quiet. “Marlow’s still out.”

“Okay,” Stiles pushes his face into Peter’s neck. He doesn’t really want to get up. “How’s Derek?”

“Same as ever. A mess of man pain and guilt.”

“A ray of sunshine then.” Stiles quips. Peter’s chest moves as he chuckles. His fingers in Stiles’ hair are soothing and Stiles doesn’t want to break away from the comfort even though he feels like he should. “Sorry for sleeping on you.”

“I don’t mind. It makes us smell more like Pack.” Peter hums, “it’s reassuring.”

“Hey Peter,” Stiles lifts his head, and their faces are suddenly so close. It would be so easy to lean in and press their mouths together. It wouldn’t take much at all just a tip of his head and Stiles could be kissing Peter Hale. That thought freaks him out, not because he’s close enough but because he wants to. Peter's tongue flicks out to wet his lips and Stiles' eyes track the movement. He _wants_ to kiss Peter Hale. How fucked up is that?

Stiles pulls away and Peter lets him. His eyes narrow slightly causing a tightness at the corners, Peter isn't surprised Stiles has backed off. It causes a funny churning in his stomach; Stiles isn't sure if it's guilt or regret or relief.

"What did you want?” Peter asks with a smirk, he's subtly calling Stiles out.

"To say thanks," Stiles replies honestly. "For being here, helping with Marlow, for making this Christmas a not-awful one. I really appreciate it, Peter."

"We're Pack." Peter says as if it explains everything and truthfully, it does.

*

That night Stiles is lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Marlow is asleep in her cot and Peter is snoring gently next to him. Stiles’ mind has been a swirly mess of emotions. He’d tried to hide it from Peter and Marlow but they’re both werewolves and could sense something was going on with him.

Marlow kept trying to give Stiles Virginia, getting very grumpy when he would hand the sheep back. Peter kept his distance as best as he could. He’d reach out to touch Stiles then stop before his hand would make contact.

Stiles can’t sleep when his mind is in such a mess. Usually he’d jerk off and the orgasm would make him sleepy enough. That’s not an option with two werewolves nearby, especially a baby in a cot at the end of his bed. And Peter fucking Hale who is the whole reason Stiles is in this situation.

Quietly and carefully Stiles gets out of bed, tiptoes into the other room, turns on the kitchen light and sits at the dining table with the Hennessy file. He might as well be productive if he isn’t going to sleep.

He starts up his laptop and starts searching through a folder he hasn’t used in a long time. After the debacle in Mexico Stiles had made a file on every known Hunter family. The Argents and the Calaveras are the biggest ones, though they aren’t the only ones. Stiles had broken into the Argent home not long after Chris had taken Isaac to France and raided his study. There wasn’t much there, but it was enough for Stiles to be able to see what traits Hunter families had. With his knowledge of the crimes the Argents had committed and the Calaveras Stiles was able to extrapolate the data.

Stiles has created a folder on his computer, that's admittedly out of date, of probable and potential Hunter families and hot spots. From Stiles’ research Hunter families in the US tend to have factions throughout the states making it difficult to track them down. The Argents had been easy, they’d had their arms business which made them easy to track.

New York is a hot spot of Supernatural creatures which naturally means there are Hunters crawling around as well. There’s an Argent base, small but present. The intel he has on other Hunters in the area is limited. Stiles has been remiss in his research. He’d gotten complacent when he moved into the city.

It’s slow going, Stiles is rusty on his Supernatural sources of information. He gets immersed in his work, reaching out to old contacts like Chris Argent and Tamora Monroe. Stiles manipulates them into giving him the information he both wants and needs, it’s not enough and it’s frustrating because he’s not getting it quick enough.

“Stiles.”

“Ah!” Stiles shouts and jumps, Peter is standing before him as half-naked as he had been when they went to bed. “Jesus fuck! Don’t do that.”

“What are you doing?” Peter squints at him, his hair is a mess and it shouldn’t be adorable.

“Working.” Stiles stretches his arms over his head and arches his back. When he falls out of it he sees the way Peter’s eyes shoot up towards his face. Then again, Stiles takes in Peter’s impassive expression, he’s probably projecting.

“It’s almost three in morning.”

“What are you doing up?” Stiles closes the laptop and tidies the file away. He’s suddenly overcome with exhaustion, yawning as he watches Peter head to the kitchen.

“I got woken up. The bed was cold and it’s almost time for Marlow’s feed.” Peter says over his shoulder as he starts preparing Marlow’s bottle.

“Right.” Stiles yawns. Marlow’s cry pierces the air and Stiles stumbles as he gets up from the table. Peter’s suddenly there warm hand cupping Stiles’ elbow.

“I’ll get her, sweetheart.”

They walk into the bedroom together, Stiles leaning into Peter heavily. In the doorway, Peter whispers “get some sleep.”

With a tired nod, “mmm ‘kay,” Stiles leans in and presses his lips to Peter’s, “Night.”

“Goodnight, love.” Peter murmurs quietly, then he picks up Marlow and carries her out to give her the bottle in the living room and Stiles closes his eyes and falls asleep.

*

It's still quiet when Stiles wakes up. He lifts his head; Marlow is sound asleep in her cot and Peter is a solid line of heat next to him in the bed. As is often the case with Stiles he wakes early when he's gone to sleep ridiculously late. Frustrated with himself Stiles buries himself under the covers seeking out Peter's warmth.

With a grunt Peter lifts his arm and tugs Stiles in, so they're chest to chest. Stiles tucks his head under Peter's chin, it's cosy and warm and Stiles likes it more than he thinks he should. He runs his chin over the hairs on Peter's chest and Peter makes a noise in the back of his throat. "Sorry" Stiles whispers.

"It's too early." Peter mumbles.

Stiles sinks into his embrace. He doesn’t even notice at first, but it’s been so long since he’s had a body next to him especially one as muscular as Peter’s. Stiles has always been aware of how attractive Peter is, even when he was half terrified out of his mind by the man. Now though, having seen Peter as something more human, less than perfect with his ragged curling hair and short beard. Seeing his gentler side with Marlow, and even with Stiles himself, has forced him to see Peter in a new way. Stiles has always been a bit on the demisexual scale, needing to be emotionally invested before getting physically involved.

He’s so comfortable breathing in Peter’s scent, curled into his body that it takes too long for Stiles to register that his dick is taking an interest in the moment. His whole body tenses when Stiles realises he’s pressing his half-hard dick into the meat of Peter’s thigh.

Tentatively Stiles pulls his head back, holding his breath, Peter’s face is slack with sleep and he’s making those should-be-annoying soft snores that Stiles actually finds adorable. Wiggling his hips away Stiles tries to get out of Peter’s grasp. When Peter makes a noise, Stiles stops instantly, heart pounding but all Peter does is flop onto his back.

Free, Stiles slides off the bed and tiptoes quickly into the bathroom, glancing at the clock as he goes. It’s about quarter to six, Marlow will be up soon so Stiles can justify having a shower. He flicks the light on and while the water is heating up he stares at himself in the mirror. Is he really going to do this? Stiles’ reflection blinks back at him. Yep, he’s really going to masturbate as quietly as possible in his own damned shower to the thoughts of Peter Hale while the man sleeps in Stiles’ bed.

If he’s quick enough Stiles will be able to get Marlow before she cries and let Peter sleep in. It’s the least Stiles can do to assuage his guilt.

He steps under the hot spray after shucking his boxers. For a moment he just gets himself warmed up and stares at his dick. He squirts some soap into his palm before wrapping his hand around his dick. Stiles bites his lip on a groan, it’s been too long since he’s done this and it’s honestly embarrassing how quickly his dick gets hard under the attention.

Stiles closes his eyes as he pumps his hand, thumbing over the slit. In his mind he focuses on Peter’s chest, his shoulders, his fucking ass in Stiles’ underwear. Peter’s face flashes in Stiles’ mind and imagining the feel of his lips against Stiles’ own. It doesn’t take long before Stiles is coming over the tiles and floor of the shower.

Panting Stiles rests against the cool tiles. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself.

Feeling stupid, after a short and unsatisfying jerk off session, Stiles washes his come down the drain before quickly soaping himself. He’s out the shower, dry and creeping into his bedroom with his towel around his waist soon enough.

Marlow blinks sleepily up at him from her cot. Stiles grabs a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, tugging them on before picking her up. He tosses his towel onto the overflowing hamper; he’s going to have to do some laundry today.

In the kitchen Stiles shivers at the cool tiles on his feet. “Hey baby girl, did you sleep well? I should change your diaper first, huh?” Stiles is whispering to her. “Okay, we can do this, baby girl. You’ll have to help me, Peter’s always done this part.”

Marlow gurgles and Stiles nods at her. “Yeah I know, he’s very good to you.” She hits him in the cheek with her fist, “yeah, baby girl, he’s good to me too.” Stiles presses a kiss to her forehead. In the living room next on the floor next to the tv stand is a folded up pile of beach towels, with baby wet wipes, diapers, dirty diaper bags, a tub of cream and talcum powder. This is where Peter changes her. Stiles sets her on her back and starts to undo the leg poppers of the onesie Marlow sleeps in. Her little face scrunches up. “Oh no, baby girl, don’t cry. I’m here, I’m going to sort you out, Marlow, baby. Shhh.”

Stiles keeps talking to her as he pulls at the little sticky tags holding the diaper tight around her waist. He slips it off and sends a silent prayer to the heavens that it’s just wet. “Oh dear, I need a bag. Marlow, baby, this is very difficult. Whose stupid idea was it to change your diaper? Yeah, I know. It was my stupid idea.” He yanks a bag out the box, pulling three or four more with it. “Second stupid idea of the day and it’s only six in the morning.”

With the diaper sealed in the bag and Marlow still not crying, though she doesn’t look happy. Stiles grabs the wipes next. He takes a handful and starts wiping down between her legs. He has no idea what he’s doing so just hopes for the best. She’s not pooped so he figures she’s clean enough. Next is the cream but Stiles doesn’t know where to put it or the powder. Holding them up in front of her Stiles asks, “which do I use? Is it both? Should it be both? That seems like a bad idea though, like the cream’s for moisture and the talc’s for dryness. You’d get like a paste. It’d be like that Friends episode with Ross and his leather pants. Bad idea?” Stiles nods down at Marlow putting both the cream and talcum powder on the floor. “Definitely a bad idea. So next is the diaper.”

The diaper comes out the tight plastic wrapping with some force, and some ripping of the plastic. “Shit. Oh fuck. Damnit. Don’t tell Peter I said that. Any of that, okay, baby girl? Our little secret. So,” Stiles turns the diaper over, “I’m guessing Winnie the Pooh is on the front, no wait. Those are the tag thingies, Winnie the Pooh’s on the ass. Are they trying to be ironic?” He unfolds the diaper and lays it next to Marlow. He knows he needs to get her on it and get it around her but how the fuck does he do that when she’s squirming and kicking?

Stiles grabs hold of one of her legs, Marlow starts to cry in protest. She’s not happy, probably because she’s had her legs and ass out in the cold morning air. “Oh, baby girl, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing.” Stiles just tucks the towel around her and picks her up cuddling Marlow to his chest. “I don’t know what I was thinking. It shouldn’t be this hard, baby girl. Oh hush, shhh, you’ll wake Peter and we’re being nice and letting him sleep.” Stiles rubs her back and as he rocks her from side to side he catches sight of Peter leaning against the bedroom door jamb. “Oh. Hi. Sorry.”

Peter is smiling softly as he walks across the floor. He’s pulled on an old Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department jumper that Stiles stole from his dad, but Peter’s legs are bare and distractingly muscled as he comes over. “Let me,” Peter says and Stiles hands Marlow over.

Laying her back down, Peter works quickly to swipe some cream over the curve of her thighs and sets her on the diaper and secures it quickly. He then uses a finger to tug the elastic out from the edges of her legs. “I’ll show you how to do this properly when she’s not so grumpy.”

Stiles leans against Peter’s shoulder as he poppers up the onesie. “I’m sorry we woke you; I was trying to be nice.”

“It was nice.” Peter then chuckles, he presses his cheek against the top of Stiles’ head for a moment. “I may have panicked when I didn’t see Marlow in her cot.”

“How long were you standing there?”

Peter lets out a hum. “Not long.” That means he probably saw the whole disaster. “Here, put her in the bouncer. We need to wash our hands.”

“We do?” Stiles is surprised but does as he’s told while Peter reorganises the diaper changing station to the way he had it before Stiles destroyed it all.

“Of course. You wash your hands after you’ve gone to the bathroom, correct? You do the same with a baby.” Peter pauses on the threshold of the bathroom, his nostril flare and his eyes dart to Stiles before he continues as if he doesn’t know that Stiles jerked off in there just minutes ago. “Ideally you wash your hands before doing the diaper change, especially with a girl or bacteria can get in and it’s unpleasant for everyone.”

“Right.” Stiles goes to wash his hands at the kitchen sink, face flaming hot. “Tea?”

“Yes.” Peter starts to get a bottle sorted because Marlow is still grizzling. He works around Stiles while he gets the tea kettle filled and boiling. “Stiles, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“In my inability to change a diaper?”

“In having a wank.” Peter smirks.

“Oh my god.” Stiles folds himself over the side, hiding his face in his arms. “Stop talking.”

“It’s natural Stiles, especially for a man as young as yourself. You probably even pictured someone you know.” Peter pauses and Stiles contemplates banging his head against the kitchen top. “I’m right aren’t I? Was it that pretty detective that lusts after you?”

“No!” Stiles lifts his head and glares at Peter, he’s leaning against the back of the couch, bare legs out in front of him, dark underwear peeking out from under the hem of the beige jumper. “You’re holding a baby! You can’t talk about sex while holding a baby!”

“How do you think babies are made?”

“Fuck off.” Stiles glares. “Make your own damned tea.”

Peter, the asshole, laughs. Stiles turns his back, so Peter doesn’t see him smiling. He makes them both tea and generously pours Peter a bowl of cheerios as well.

*

After breakfast and Peter has put on enough clothes that he’s all covered up and Marlow is dressed they put her into the pushchair with Virginia, load the diaper bag, Peter grabs the hamper and they go down the lift and into the basement laundry room.

Peter starts sorting the laundry while Stiles shows Marlow the room. It’s completely new and she sits in the pushchair staring out at it all with Virginia’s ear in her mouth.

“Stiles?”

The three of them turn to the new voice in the room, Marlow squeals as Stiles turns the pushchair.

“Mrs Moskovitz.” Stiles grins at the old lady who has just entered the laundry room. “A belated Happy Hanukkah.”

“Ah thank you, young man.” Mrs Moskovitz has always been friendly to Stiles and they often find themselves in the laundry at the same time of the day. “Happy holidays to you and your family.”

“Oh, um,” Stiles glances back at Peter who is studiously focused on turning the washing machine on. “This is Peter, and this is Marlow.”

“Peter, hmmm.” Mrs Moskovitz walks commandingly over to Peter, grabs him by the shoulders and looks him up and down before nodding once. “You’ll do.”

The look Peter sends in Stiles’ direction has him shrugging, Mrs Moskovitz is a force unto herself. Stiles likes her though, she’s direct and he appreciates that. As Mrs Moskovitz comes to give Stiles a hug she takes his cheeks in her hands, “he’s a good looking one.”

“Yeah.” Stiles kind of sighs. He clears his throat when he notices Peter’s eyebrows shooting up. “Come and meet Marlow.”

Mrs Moskovitz and Marlow adore each other. The old lady sits on the wooden bench with Marlow in her lap playing peek a boo. Stiles and Peter lean against the wall watching them both.

“So, I’m handsome.” Peter is smirking, Stiles just knows he is without looking at him.

“She said good looking.”

“You agreed.”

Stiles snorts, “course I did. You know you’re gorgeous, stop fishing for compliments Peter it doesn’t suit you.”

Peter is grinning as he nudges Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles pushes back and they jostle each other like school boys until Stiles is laughing and Peter’s body is shaking with silent laughter. Marlow squeals happily from her place on Mrs Moskovitz’s lap. “Are you happy your daddies are happy Marlow, dear?”

“Oh Mrs M. we, uh, we’re not…” Stiles trails off not sure how to explain the situation.

“We’re just babysitting Miss Marlow,” Peter buts in. “With the snowstorm we’ve been holding on to her longer than expected.”

“I do apologise.” Mrs Moskovitz replies sheepishly. “I just assumed, you’re both so good with her.”

Stiles drops to his knees in front of them, hand on Marlow’s back. She turns towards him and bats at his cheek with a fist. “Yeah, hi, baby girl.” Her little mouth opens wide, Stiles melts a little. “Are you tired? I think you are.”

Mrs Moskovitz hands Marlow over easily, Stiles hugs her to his chest and glances up at Peter “should I take her back to the apartment?”

With a side glance at the washing machine Peter nods, “it might be best.” That's werewolf speak for it’s too loud in here.

“You take her,” Stiles offers. “I still haven’t gotten the hang of the diaper change yet.”

Peter smirks.

“Shut up.” Stiles grumbles even though he’s not really angry.

Taking Marlow and kissing on her forehead Peter holds her to his chest with one hand and guides the pushchair out the laundry with the other. “I’ll see you upstairs.”

“Yeah, I won’t be long.”

It looks as though Peter is going to say something more though his eyes cut to Mrs Moskovitz. “It was a pleasure to meet you Mrs Moskovitz.”

“You as well, and little Marlow. Buh bye,” she waves at Marlow until all that’s left of Peter is his footsteps fading down the hall. “Come.” She pats the wooden bench next to her. Stiles obediently sits. Mrs Moskovitz takes his hand in hers. “You like him.”

Stiles nods. He can’t deny it, not even if he wanted to, he _likes_ Peter Hale.

“He’s a good man, Stiles.”

“How can you tell?”

She rubs at her forearm, Stiles knows there’s a crude unwanted string of numbers there. “I have seen bad men. I have seen the evil things they do. Your Peter is not a bad man. He loves Marlow, he loves you.”

Stiles doesn’t believe her for a second, but he’s happy to let her think there’s something that isn’t actually there at all. “He’s certainly great with Marlow.”

“You know my David was a good man. He …” Mrs Moskovitz spends the time reminiscing while their clothes are in the washing machine and then the dryer.

About two hours later Stiles is carrying the hamper full of folded, still warm clothes across the threshold of his apartment. “Honey, I’m home.” Stiles calls out, sniggering to himself.

Peter and Marlow are on the floor in front of the couch on their stomachs. Setting the hamper aside Stiles comes around to drop onto the floor next to Peter. “We’re trying some push ups.” Peter says with a fake smile at Marlow.

“I take it it’s not going well.”

The glare Peter sends his way, alongside the grimace smile makes him look deranged.

“You look insane.”

Peter flops forward, face smushing into the playmat Marlow is on. She reaches out and squeals grabbing at Peter’s hair. “She doesn’t want to do it for me.” Peter moans into the fabric, Stiles can hardly hear him.

“Baby girl, you’re not lifting up for Peter?” Stiles detangles her hand from Peter’s hair. “Come on, let’s show him how we do it. Up and down,” Stiles starts to sing, “up and down. Up and down.” He’s doing some push ups, might as well get some exercise going.

Marlow starts to push her little arms under her chest. Peter has just turned his head to watch her, a defeated look on his face. Feeling cocky Stiles starts to clap on the upwards motion of his push ups. It makes Marlow squeal and Peter’s eyes get hooded. When Stiles catches Peter’s gaze it makes him falter and he lands awkwardly. His left wrist hits the ground before his right does and Stiles braces a bit before he rolls onto his back.

Peter is kneeling at his side in an instant. Marlow is placed on Stiles’ stomach and she tries to push up to him. While Peter, with gentle hands, takes Stiles’ hand and starts draining the pain, black veins disappearing up his arm under the beige Sheriff’s department jumper. “It’s fine,” Stiles says dismissively trying to tug his hand away.

He doesn’t want Peter to see. Unfortunately, Stiles is unable to stop Peter from pushing up the sleeve of Stiles’ jumper. “Stiles,” Peter murmurs, sounding almost disappointed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Stiles knows his wrist is badly bruised. The shape of Peter’s grip marked on his skin. It’s dark purple in place, yellowy-green on the edges. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not!” Peter shouts, startling Marlow so badly she cries. Stiles cradles her to his chest shushing her, Peter has scrambled back until he’s leaning on the sofa.

“It’s not the worst injury I’ve had Peter.” Stiles offers gently as he sits up, rocking and shushing Marlow. Stiles moves to sit next to Peter, back against the couch and shoulders pressing against each other. He moves to tuck Marlow against Peter’s chest. “It’s just a bruise.”

“I’ve never hurt you before.”

Stiles thinks on that and realises Peter is right. If anything, the opposite is true, Peter has always helped or saved Stiles. He frightened and chased Stiles through the school when he was a wild alpha, but since his resurrection Peter has done nothing but help Stiles. Peter saved him from the Nogitsune, he helped him escape the Wild Hunt. Stiles could never figure out why Peter had done any of that, nor why he’s beating himself up for hurting Stiles now.

“It’s just a bruise.” Stiles repeats. “You’re doing much better now, right?”

“I’m in perfect control of my wolfie instincts.” Peter replies, it makes Stiles grin.

Marlow has stopped crying and is rubbing her cheek against Peter’s chest. “I think she might be hungry.”

“Or tired,” Peter suggests. He runs a fingertip down the slope of Marlow’s nose and she yawns, eyes closing. “Get some sleep.” Peter whispers and Stiles is hit with a sense of deja vu.

He thought he’d dreamt it. Stiles feels his heart pounding and Peter is looking at him in concern. “I’m just-” Stiles runs for the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. He takes hold of either side of the sink and forces himself to breathe like his meditation taught him. In for four seconds, hold for four seconds, and out for six.

Stiles _kissed_ Peter last night.

He’d been so dopey with sleep that Stiles barely remembered it, and it felt more like a memory from a dream. Hearing Peter say those words, in the same quiet, doting tone brought it all back in a rush. Stiles may have been half asleep at the time but Peter wasn’t, why hadn’t he brought it up?

Running the tap Stiles splashes cold water on his face.

If Peter hasn’t brought it up, then Stiles is going to pretend it never happened as well. After all, there’s no big deal in a sleepy kiss between friends. Only Stiles and Peter aren’t really friends, they skipped from allies to family practically overnight.

When Stiles comes out of the bathroom, Marlow must be in her cot because Peter’s in the kitchen cooking something on the stove. He turns when Stiles appears. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just had a freak out.” Stiles replies honestly.

“About?” Peter’s eyes are intense as he gazes at Stiles. Is he trying to make Stiles talk about the kiss? Or is he genuinely concerned? Stiles doesn’t know what to think, he can never tell what Peter is aiming for when he asks a question. Usually Peter doesn’t ask something he doesn’t know the answer to already.

“I just remembered I emailed both Chris and Monroe last night, neither will be pleased that I haven’t responded yet.” It’s not even a lie, Stiles slides into his usual chair at the dining table and opens his laptop. Peter sighs, maybe he picked up on an uptick in Stiles’ heartbeat because it’s not the full truth.

“Here.” Peter puts down two plates of scrambled egg and toast on the table. “I made lunch.”

“We have eggs?” Stiles is sure they didn’t have any yesterday.

Peter smirks. “I traded half a bag of flour for six eggs with Stacey.”

“Who’s Stacey?”

“Your neighbour. She lives across the hall, very pretty blonde.”

Stiles’ mood sours. That’s probably why Peter didn’t mention the kiss, Stiles isn’t a _very pretty blonde_.

“You don’t like the eggs?” Peter’s nostrils flare, he’s obviously smelling some chemo signals Stiles is releasing. Fucking werewolves.

“I like _Stacey’s_ eggs just fucking fine.”

“Ah, I see.” Peter faces his plate and they fall into an uncomfortable, and on Stiles’ part at least, annoyed silence. What does Peter see? Does he think Stiles is interested in Stacey? Which is absurd because Stiles doesn’t even know who the fuck Stacey is.

This whole situation is a goddamned mess and the sooner the snow stops, the sooner Stiles can get back to his life without Peter Hale.

He pretends that thought doesn’t fill him with dread. Stiles has always been good at lying, especially to himself.

*

The rest of the day is spent with Stiles in a strange mindset. He keeps thinking about what Mrs Moskovitz had said, about Peter loving him, though no matter how much he observes the other man Stiles never finds any proof.

Peter treats him the same as he always has done. There’s nothing new or particularly loving about it. Stiles can see the adoration in how Peter is with Marlow. He stands by what he said that very first day, Peter is a good dad. Where he’s cutting and cold to adults Peter is full of patience and affection for Marlow.

At least Stiles has made some progress with the Hennessy case; both Monroe and Chris have given him a list of Hunters that are based in New York. He’s cross-referenced the names and narrowed it down to eight potentials, by running them through the police database for their known addresses Stiles has gotten the names for three that live within a two-block radius of the Hennessy family.

He then sends the sketch done by the sketch artist from a witness who saw the man that kidnapped Marlow and put her in the bush after the car exploded. Hoping one of them will be able to identify the man.

In the evening, after Marlow’s in bed, Peter seems to be maintaining a careful, constant space between them. He keeps his distance while he watches something with Gordon Ramsay on the food network. Eventually Stiles gets up from the couch and does some more work.

The tedious evening is interrupted by a knock on the door.

Stiles answers it. It’s a woman, she’s young, blonde and very beautiful. Stiles blinks at her, she smiles shyly. “Hey, neighbour.”

“Huh?”

She gestures behind her at the apartment opposite. “I live just across there. We’ve never really met, eh?”

“No. I suppose not.” Stiles grimaces at her, nods once and turns around. “It’s for you.” He says to Peter and goes back to the table to do his work.

Peter gets up from the couch with a wide smile, he’s never smiled at Stiles like that. “Stacey, hello.”

“Hey Peter, I just came to bring you these.” Stiles looks up from his laptop to see Stacey handing over a Tupperware box. “I thought I’d share some as a thank you for the flour.”

“The eggs were the thank you for the flour, Stacey,” Peter replies smoothly. He tucks the box carefully under his arm and slips his hands into his pockets as he leans against the door frame.

Stacey laughs, it’s annoyingly perfect. “I can take them back if you don’t want them.”

“Now I didn’t say that.”

Stiles is glaring at them; he knows he is, and he knows it’s completely irrational but he’s getting hurt and jealous because Peter doesn’t talk to him like that. Peter doesn’t _flirt_ with him like that. Everything Peter does with Stiles seems like a competition, there’s no easy flirting, no casual touches like the way Stacey is resting her hand on Peter’s forearm. Instead Stiles gets a fucking bruised wrist, sarcasm and Peter’s typical arrogance. He turns his gaze away from them, it’s hurtful watching Peter like that with someone else.

Maybe when all this is over and Peter goes back to wherever the fuck he came from, Stiles will see him as he comes around to take Stacey on a date, and then he’ll move in and Stiles will have to move out. Just so he doesn’t have to see stupid Stacey and her perfect face and perfect boobs and perfect body with Peter, while they have stupidly perfect children so Peter can be a proper dad to his proper kid.

When he dares to look up from the screen Stacey is leaning in talking in a quiet voice directly into Peter’s ear. Both their eyes are on him and Stiles quickly goes back to the screen, cheeks heating with embarrassment at having been caught staring. He hears Peter say “he’s not usually like this, I promise. It’s a trying time with a young baby and his work.” As if Stiles needs Peter making excuses for him. It’s goddamned New York city, he doesn’t have to be polite to his neighbours.

“Ya. It’s a small space to have a kid in.” Stacey nods wisely, as if she has a fucking clue. “This storm’s getting the best of us down. I can’t go into work, I work front of house at Bar Bete.”

“Is that so? Not much you can do from home I imagine.” Peter sounds genuinely interested.

“Nah, nothing really.” Stacey laughs that annoying sound again. “He looks like he’s got a lot of work to do. Something to keep him occupied.”

“Stressed is more like it.” Peter replies. “He’s a detective, you know.” There’s something in Peter’s tone that forces Stiles’ gaze up, their eyes meet because Peter’s already looking at him. Stiles can’t see his expression though; the light is mostly behind him leaving his face more shadowed than not.

Stacey makes a surprised noise. “No wonder he’s grumpy. A detective in New York and a baby, plus being stuck inside because of the snow.”

“He’ll be alright.” Peter sounds so sure, then he turns away from where he had been staring at Stiles and back to Stacey.

Running a hand through his hair, Stiles tugs viciously at the strands, he barely hears Stacey and Peter say goodbye before the door is shut and Peter heads for the kitchen. The tap runs and Peter clatters around while he makes himself a cup of tea. Stiles feels bereft of the usual companionship that they had before.

A few minutes later a cup of tea and a chocolate cupcake with chocolate icing are placed next to his paperwork. Peter goes back into the kitchen for his own tea and cake then, after a brief moment of hesitation, he sits down at the dining table with Stiles.

“Thanks.” Stiles offers Peter a small smile.

Peter just nods and takes the wrapper off the cake and calmly takes a bite.

“I’m sorry Peter.” Stiles shuts the laptop lid and moves it to the side. He wants to reach out and wipe Stacey’s scent from Peter’s clothes, so he does. Stiles grips Peter’s forearm. “I’ve been a monster today.”

“Not really.” Peter gives a self-deprecating smirk. “I know a thing or two about being a monster, sweetheart, and you’re not one.”

“Maybe not.” Stiles agrees. “But I have been awful.”

“Yes. You have.”

Stiles takes a sip of the too hot tea to give himself a moment longer to think about what he’s going to say. “I’m frustrated and confused and being in one place all the time doesn’t suit me.”

Brushing the crumbs off his fingers Peter takes a deep breath. He then has a sip of tea, when he sets his cup back down Peter laces his fingers together, hands braced on the table. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Peter-”

“Do not take that tone with me Stiles. I am not be a detective but I am far from stupid.”

Biting the cake Stiles chews to calm down, Peter has, once again, jumped to a conclusion. The wrong conclusion. “Fuck, Peter, you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

“Yet you are reluctant to accept my help.” He spreads his hands indicating at all the paperwork Stiles has all over the tabletop.

“Because you’re doing so much for me already. With Marlow and you cook the meals and I’m just… not helping.”

Realisation dawns on Peter’s face, Stiles turns away. “Stiles, sweetheart, I’m doing this because I want to. I enjoy cooking and looking after my Pack. And you’re great with Marlow.”

“I can’t even change a fucking diaper.”

“I couldn’t either at first.” Peter’s tone is so soft that Stiles can’t help but look at him. “When Harrison was born I was terrified, he was so small. Suddenly I had a son, I didn’t know what to do with him. I was too young to show any interest in Talia’s kids until they were old enough to play with me. Harrison was mine,” Peter pauses, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. “I had to learn everything you’re learning. Only I had my wife and my sister, my parents, my family. My Pack. I learnt it all over months. It takes a long time for a child to get to where Marlow is now and parents grow with their children. You… you’ve taken this on and you are doing an admirable job.

“I am here to help in whatever ways I can. If that means changing all the dirty diapers then so be it. If you want to brainstorm about the case I can help with that too.” Peter reaches out and catches Stiles’ fingers in his hand. “When Derek called to tell me you had a baby, I came without asking any more questions. Do you know why?”

“Wolfie instincts?”

“Because it was you, Stiles. You’re stubborn to a fault and independent as hell, but you know to take help when it’s offered.” Peter squeezes Stiles’ fingers gently until their gazes meet. “And I am offering my help.”

“Aw, man.” Stiles pulls his fingers from Peter’s hand, pushes out the chair and goes around to tug Peter into a hug. It’s awkward and comforting at the same time. “Thank you.”

Peter pats Stiles on the back. When Stiles pulls back he looks down into Peter’s face and he strokes a finger down the side of Peter’s scruffy cheek. Neither of them says anything, Stiles bites his lip and draws away to sit back down. He shoves the rest of the cake in his mouth. “This is good,” he says around his mouthful.

“Stacey made them.” Peter narrows his eyes at Stiles’ expression. “I’m not attracted to her, Stiles.”

“What? Why would it matter if you were? I don’t care. Like, it doesn’t matter to me if you are or aren’t.” Stiles curses his mouth for speaking without thinking. “She’s very pretty.”

“Yes, she is beautiful however she is not my type.”

“Right.” Stiles wants to ask what Peter’s type is even though he’s slightly afraid of what the answer will be. “Well Chris and Monroe got back to me. I’ve narrowed it down to one potential Hunter family. The Prata brothers. The witness sketch looks like George Prata and Chris recognised him too.”

Peter goes with the change of topic easily, he leans forward, hand cupping his cup of tea and listens to what Stiles has to say. Then he pokes holes in every theory Stiles has. Just like old times.

*

The snow stops falling over the next few days and even starts to melt. “Looks like we’ll be able to go out soon,” Stiles says as he holds Marlow up to the window so she can see the street below.

“CPS will be open then.” Peter replies, he’s standing right behind Stiles and his hand comes up to cup the back of Marlow’s head. “We’ll have to say goodbye soon.”

Stiles’ throat gets thick at the thought of losing, not one but two of the most important werewolves in his life. Both Peter and Marlow trump Scott for the top spot. “I’ll be back at work the day after tomorrow.”

“That’s New Year’s Day.”

“Really?”

Peter chuckles. “You really have lost track of all days haven’t you?”

“Obviously.” Stiles does a quick calculation. “That means tomorrow is New Year’s Eve.”

“Yes, well done.”

Stiles elbows Peter in the stomach, he doesn’t even pretend to be winded. “That means family outing.” Stiles lifts Marlow in the air until she squeals with delight. “Mrs Moskovitz and I always go and see the ball on New Year’s Eve.”

“Marlow can’t be out in the cold night air.”

“Not see it drop, Peter.” Stiles makes plane noises as he flies Marlow around the living room. Mrs Moskovitz has always invited Stiles to go up to the roof with her and watch them setting up the ball. They get to see it light up and rise to the top, she’s too old to be sitting on a rooftop at night in the middle of winter. Stiles never really cared for midnight to celebrate another year gone. He’s just impressed he made it through high school alive and is grateful everyday he comes home. “We watch them set it up, about ten in the morning. Sounds like fun, hey, baby girl?” Marlow is shrieking with delight as Stiles moves her up and down and all over.

“It does sound like fun.” Peter agrees. “Family outing it is.”

They’ve settled back into a truce and Stiles has accepted the fact that he’s half in love with Peter and completely aware that nothing is going to come of it. He has a history of falling for people that are ridiculously good looking, supremely intelligent and utterly unattainable. Stiles had come to terms with that side of himself a long time ago. He’s only recently come to terms with the attraction to Peter Hale.

They still cuddle up together in bed at night, Peter scents Stiles during the day and Stiles has learnt how to balance his work life with his Marlow time. He even knows how to change her diaper now.

“Are you excited to go outside tomorrow, baby girl?” Stiles takes Marlow back to the window; he sits her on Peter’s shoulder and she grabs a handful of his hair.

Even if this time together is limited Stiles is determined to enjoy it all. He’s going to take more pictures and be in every moment because now that Christmas is over it feels like the deadline is looming ever more present each passing day.

He glances up to see that Peter looks just as dread filled as Stiles does. Not wanting him to dwell on something that hasn’t happened, and they don’t even know when it will happen, Stiles pokes him in the side. Peter’s raised eyebrow shows just how unimpressed he is. “Want to dance?”

“Excuse me?” Peter draws Marlow down to his chest and Stiles grabs his phone, pulls up Spotify and starts a playlist of obnoxious pop songs. He comes close enough to Peter that Marlow is sandwiched between their chests and Stiles starts to move his hips.

It takes a few songs, but soon enough Peter has loosened up enough that he’s dancing with Stiles, Marlow bouncing between them. There are matching smiles on their faces, it’s a joyous moment and Stiles thinks _I’ll never be this happy again_. Shaking his head to dispel the thought Stiles starts to stomp to the beat, laughing and wiggling his fingers in Marlow and Peter’s faces.

*

On New Year’s Eve they bundle Marlow up in her warmest clothing, pull on their own coats before meeting Mrs Moskovitz in the stairwell leading up to the roof.

Immediately Mrs Moskovitz swoops Marlow out of Peter’s arms and coos at her. Peter shoots an amused look at Stiles who just kisses Mrs Moskovitz on the cheek and goes to join Peter on the stairs.

Mrs Moskovitz starts to cackle. “Look at that young lady, they’re under the mistletoe.”

Peter has a frown as he glares up at the ceiling. Stiles follows his gaze, it’s a fake plastic sprig that’s seen better days judging by the faded green colour and flecks of red left on the berries. With dawning realisation Stiles opens his mouth to speak but before any words can come out Peter’s kissing him.

It’s a soft kiss. Peter’s lips catching Stiles’ lower lip between them, his stubble scratches against Stiles’ skin. Peter brings his hands up to slide into Stiles’ hair and cup his cheek.

As they break the kiss, Stiles blinks his eyes open. Peter’s right there with his bright blue eyes, crinkled at the corners and it’s overwhelming. Stiles’ brain has broken slightly. It’s his only excuse for what comes out his mouth. “That’s not mistletoe, it’s holly.”

Abruptly Peter steps away breaking all contact with Stiles leaving him feeling cold. He watches as Peter crosses over to take Marlow out of Mrs Moskovitz’s arms. Peter doesn’t look at either of them as he stalks up the stairs to the rooftop.

Dropping his head back against the wall Stiles glares up at the fake holly and snarls out “ _fuck._ ”

“I’m sorry, Stiles dear. I thought you two were… something.”

“We’re not.” Stiles looks at Mrs Moskovitz, she’s looking genuinely distraught. “Don’t worry Mrs M. It’s not your fault.” He gives her a reassuring smile, then offers her his arm, “shall we?”

Her face crinkles and she obviously decides not to say what she wants to, simply placing her hand in the crook of Stiles’ elbow and letting him help her up the stairs. On the rooftop Peter has Marlow sitting on his forearm, his other hand holding her chest so she can look out at the city. Peter’s shoulders are tense and he doesn’t turn around.

“Brisk wind this morning,” Mrs Moskovitz says as she stands next to Peter. He simply hums in response.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees faintly, eyes on Peter over her head.

Usually Stiles and Mrs Moskovitz chatter and shout at the workers as they do the last minute checks to make sure the ball lights work and raise it to the top of the pole. This year though, Stiles spends it slumped against the ledge and his eyes are more on Peter whispering to Marlow.

Mrs Moskovitz kept shifting from foot to foot, at first Stiles thought she was cold but when he glanced over her eyes were flitting between him and Peter. It’s an awkward, awful atmosphere.

Once the ball is at the top, having made its slow ascent Peter turns away. “Marlow’s getting cold and it’s almost time for her nap.”

“Alright dear,” Mrs Moskovitz smiles large, bright and fake. “Happy New Year.”

“And to you.” Peter inclines his head.

Stiles pushes away from the ledge. “I’ll come with you.”

There’s a nasty sneer to Peter’s face as he snarls “don’t bother.” Then he’s gone disappearing through the rooftop doorway so quickly that Stiles is half-convinced he used his supernatural speed.

“Don’t despair, dear.” Mrs Moskovitz pats Stiles’ arm.

“Too late. I’ve fucked this up so bad.”

“My dear, it’s never that bad. You like him, yes?”

“Well yeah but there are complications.” Stiles sighs wishing they could go back to yesterday when all three of them were happy.

“His age?”

Stiles shrugs, “among other things. We have a history. It’s not always pleasant.”

“No history ever is. No relationship is only good. You don’t look for the grove, you look for the clearing.” Mrs Moskovitz rubs at her forearm with deliberation.

All Stiles can do in response is take a deep breath. Does he want to step over the line with Peter?

“Go on dear.” Mrs Moskovitz smiles warmly at Stiles, letting go of his hand.

“Thank you,” Stiles kisses her cheek.

He runs down the three flights of stairs to his apartment and bursts in. Neither Peter nor Marlow are in sight. He finds them in the bedroom, Marlow is asleep in her cot and Peter is sitting on the end of the bed staring blankly at the floor.

“Peter,” Stiles whispers.

“She’s only just gone down.”

“Can we talk?”

Peter turns his tired eyes up to meet Stiles’ gaze. “About what?”

“What do you think?” Stiles rolls his eyes. “About the kiss.”

“Which one?” Peter stands so they’re the same height. “The one just now or the one you pretended didn’t happen?”

“Oh, I didn’t think…”

“No?” Peter raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t think I noticed? You didn’t think when you did it? You didn’t think _what_?”

“What about you?” Stiles hisses viciously. “You drive me crazy. You flirt with my neighbour then tell me about your son in the next breath. You sleep in my bed, you scent-mark me and you’re so damned sarcastic that I don’t know what the fuck you’re thinking from one minute to the next. We’ve just been pretending, Peter.” Stiles feels helpless and off balance. “This isn’t the conversation I wanted to have.”

“Tough shit.” Peter snarls, eyes turning beta blue. “You can’t stand the fact that you’re attracted to me.”

“That’s not true.”

Peter blinks his beta eyes away. He looks defeated. “Yes it is.”

“No!”

His shout wakes Marlow and the look Peter gives him is filled with contempt, that Stiles stumbles out the room and out the apartment. He slams his own damned front door and stomps up the hallway. Stiles has to get away, it all went wrong, how the fuck did it go so sour? He knew what he wanted to say but Peter twisted it all around and now they’re both miserable and Stiles just left. He just left Peter to deal with Marlow. Stiles is a useless parent.

Stiles slides down the wall only a few steps away from his apartment and feels an overwhelming urge to cry. Pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, Stiles takes deep breaths and tries to control his emotions. He can’t focus, can’t even count to ten, Stiles feels so out of control and he doesn’t have Peter to rely on to help him fix it.

*

Minutes, or maybe hours later the door to Stiles’ apartment opens and he scrambles to his feet, hopeful that Peter is there to talk to him. Only, Peter just tosses Stiles his phone and goes back inside.

He has four missed calls and seven unread texts, mostly from Cap or Anthony telling him to call Cap. With a heavy heart Stiles presses the call button.

“Captain Phillips.”

“Cap, it’s Stilinski.”

“Excellent. I need you to come in today.”

Stiles swallows and nods even though she can’t see it. “Sure thing.”

“And Stilinski?”

“Yes.”

“Bring the Hennessy girl.”

“Yes ma’am.” Cap hangs up before Stiles has even pulled the phone away. He wipes his burning eyes on the back of his hand. Stiles takes a few minutes of deep breathing to try and stop the crushing feeling in his chest even though nothing works. He knows he’s hoping for Peter to come out and see what is going on, then the guilt and grief crash over him again when he realises Peter won’t because Stiles fucked up.

Steeling himself, Stiles takes the few steps back to his apartment, it feels like years have passed in the moments it’s taken him to walk the hallway. He pushes the door open and Peter is in the kitchen. He steps out when Stiles shuts the door behind him with a quiet sob.

“Stiles?” Peter’s voice is tentative.

“We have to give her back.” Stiles wipes his runny nose against his sleeve, “we were supposed to have more time.”

Immediately Peter comes forward and they crash together in a tight hug, Stiles clings to Peter and tries to stifle his tears. Peter’s arms are like vices around Stiles’ shoulders and waist. He doesn’t say anything but he’s making a low, mournful howl-like cry.

They only break apart when Marlow starts to cry. Stiles wipes at his cheeks, Peter’s face is dry but his eyes are glassy. “Go-” he coughs because his voice breaks, “go wash up, I’ll get her ready.”

“Okay.” Stiles heads for the bathroom, eyes welling with tears again. He splashes cold water on his face and pushes the towel painfully against his eyes. When he steps out Peter is in the bedroom with Marlow, packing the diaper bag with some toys, a lot of clothes and diapers and wet wipes. Marlow isn’t crying but she’s solemn, as though she knows something awful is happening. “Hey baby girl, let’s get you dressed up. We’re going to take a trip.”

Peter hands her over and Stiles puts her in some warm things, chattering to her to keep her occupied and to keep himself from breaking down. While he’s slipping on a cute pair of shoes Peter heads out the bedroom. Stiles tugs his coat from the wardrobe and pulls it on. “Almost ready, baby girl.”

In the living room, Peter is standing by the front door with his coat on and an impassive expression. Diaper bag over his shoulder.

“Should we use the pushchair?” Stiles swallows around the dry lump in his throat. He feels sick.

“No point, the snow’s probably still too thick for it.”

“Okay.” They stare at each other for a long moment, then with a decisive nod Peter opens the door, no way back from this. “Can’t we keep her?” Stiles whispers.

“That’s kidnapping, sweetheart.”

Stiles lets out a wet laugh. “That’s not a no.” All the same he walks out the apartment and locks the door after Peter shuts it. By an unspoken agreement they walk slowly to the precinct, the ten minute walk takes them closer to twenty. The steps getting harder and harder for Stiles to take the closer they get to the building.

He lets Peter hold Marlow as they go up in the lift, Cap is waiting for them in the bullpen with another woman. There’s a look of surprise on her face when she sees them, “Peter Hale as I live and breathe.”

“Myra.” Peter’s greeting is very lacklustre.

“Stilinski.”

“Cap.” Stiles shifts so he’s standing pressed against Peter.

Cap nods, eyes flying from Stiles to Peter to Marlow. “This is Sophia Matrick. She’s the liaison officer for Child Protective Services. Sophia will make sure Marlow is placed with a suitable family.”

Sophia is small with long straight black hair, there’s a kindness to her that sort of puts Stiles at ease. She smiles at them all, “Marlow is in good hands, there’s a family interested in taking her almost immediately.” Stiles clenches his jaw at that, so he doesn’t scream. Sophia seems to understand anyway. “We’ll give you a couple of minutes to say goodbye.”

Stiles turns and sees the heartbreak he feels mirrored on Peter’s face. Peter hugs Marlow, giving her a kiss on the forehead before scent marking her one last time. He hands her over to Stiles and moves away to give the diaper bag to Sophia. “Alright baby girl, you’ll be alright. I love you Marlow, don’t ever forget that okay? And you be a good girl.” Stiles kisses her, passes her over to Sophia and walks out the bullpen. Nobody tries to stop him.

It takes seconds for Peter to catch up to him and between one breath and the next Marlow starts to cry. Stiles stumbles and goes to turn back but Peter grips his elbow, “don’t. It won’t be fair to Marlow. Just keep walking, Stiles.”

So, he does.

Somehow Stiles walks all the way home without registering the journey or Peter letting go of his arm. Back in Stiles’ living room he looks around at the pushchair by the front door, the play mat in front of the couch.

Peter’s staring around at them too. “I suppose this is it.” He hasn’t taken his coat off, in fact he even takes a step closer to the door.

“Please don’t go. Not you too, not today.” Stiles whispers, his voice breaking anyway.

His shoulders slump in relief and Peter looks up at Stiles with a strained, small quirk of his lips. He shucks his coat and tosses it on top of Stiles’ over the back of the couch, toes off his shoes and says, “I need to be close to you right now.”

“Wolfie instincts?” Stiles asks. He kicks off his shoes and goes into the bedroom. “Oh god.”

“What?” Peter asks from right behind him.

Stiles holds up the stupid sheep. “We forgot Virginia. She’s going to want Virginia. We have to go back, Peter we have to-”

Peter just pulls Stiles in close and guides them to lie on the bed, Stiles cries into his jumper, Virginia crushed between them.

*

They stay curled together on the bed long after Stiles' tears have dried. He stays with his head on Peter's chest matching his breaths. Peter, for his part, keeps his fingers moving over Stiles’ head in small circle-like motions. He plays with Stiles' hair, neither of them says anything.

Peter's stomach rumbles late in the day. It's such a human thing that Stiles laughs, short and soft but genuine. He sits up and looks down at Peter on the bedspread. "Should I order in or..."

"I'm not that hungry." Peter responds. "Tea and toast will be fine for me."

"That sounds good." Stiles places Virginia on the bed, fingers stroking over the sheep's head. Suddenly it's hard to breathe. The moment passes and Stiles follows Peter out the bedroom.

He can't escape Marlow there either. She's everywhere in his flat. For someone so small who spent such a short amount of time with him, she sure has taken up a lot of space in his life. Peter is in the kitchen, kettle on and toaster down.

They move around each other in silence. It's heavy and oppressive and Stiles wants to break it but he's terrified that if he opens his mouth all that's going to come out is sobs. He misses Marlow so much he doesn't know how to be himself without her.

In a way, Stiles thinks as he takes the plate of toast from Peter, it's hard to be around Peter without her as well. She brought them together, she made them Pack and now that Marlow is gone it's like they're untethered.

Stiles mechanically chews the toast and sips the tea. He sees the clock; it's nearing seven in the evening. In nearly five hours’ time it will be a new year and being heartbroken is a fucking awful way to end this one.

Peter takes their plates and empty cups into the kitchen he putters around in there. "Shit." Stiles hears him say. Gingerly, almost as if he's afraid of what he'll see Stiles goes to the kitchen door. Peter is standing in the middle of the room with one of Marlow's bottles. "It was instinct. I didn't even realise." Peter trails off looking helplessly at Stiles.

"Come on." Stiles takes the bottle out of Peter’s grasp and sets it on the side. He replaces it with his own hand and pulls Peter with him into the bedroom. "Take these off," Stiles whispers, tugging at the hem of Peter’s jumper then he starts to strip himself. "We're going to bed."

"It's seven o'clock."

"Do you want this day to be any longer?"

Peter gives his answer when he tugs the jumper over his head, then hesitatingly drops it over the side of Marlow's cot. His jeans follow soon after, Peter tosses his socks on the pile of Stiles' dirty clothes and gets into his side of the bed.

Stiles joins him and presses their chests together. Peter is so despondent, and Stiles is feeling adrift in his devastation that he needs something to anchor him. With deliberation Stiles catches Peter's watery gaze and he leans in, giving Peter plenty of time to pull away. He doesn't and their lips meet.

Unlike their previous kisses this one is messy, wet and desperate. Peter's tongue slides into his mouth, Stiles moans. He puts a thigh over Peter's hip and uses his muscles to draw their bodies into more contact.

However, when Stiles starts to grind his hardening dick into Peter's thigh, Peter breaks the kiss. He's panting and has a face full of regret. Stiles doesn't need him to say it. Peter is clearly regretting the kiss. Stiles removes his leg, rolls over so they aren’t facing each other and takes deep slow breaths to stop himself from falling apart.

It takes a long time for him to fall asleep, and if Stiles hadn't been paying such close attention to his own breathing he'd have noticed the lack of Peter’s usual soft snores.

*

In the morning Stiles wakes up alone, Peter's side of the bed is lukewarm. He still stumbles out of the bedroom though half hoping he's wrong.

Peter is sitting on the couch, fully dressed in what he'd been wearing yesterday. Stiles' fancy blue jumper and his own jeans and he even has his fucking coat on.

"So that's it then?" Stiles feels stupidly vulnerable in his underwear.

"It's for the best." Peter stands and Stiles wants to shout at him 'for who?' but he bites his tongue and nothing comes out. "I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

"How kind of you." Stiles snarls.

Peter briefly closes his eyes. He looks worn and tired. "Stiles."

"Just go, Peter. You wanted to say goodbye and now you have." Stiles shrinks back into the bedroom door, arms tight around his torso. "So, bye then."

"Goodbye sweetheart."

Stiles clenches his jaw because that just isn't fair. He doesn't say anything as he watches Peter leave the apartment as easily as he'd pushed his way in. The door closes quietly behind Peter with a soft click.

He stays where he is, staring at the closed door for an embarrassingly long time. Traitorous hope in his chest waiting for Peter to come sauntering back in apologising and making a plan for them to get Marlow back whatever means necessary. Stiles has contacts. He can get their names changed, passports, cash and they'd be over the border in Canada by nightfall.

Of course, all that happens is Stiles gets cold and he goes back into his room. He gets into Peter's side of the bed chasing the scent of the man on the pillow. Stiles searches the sheets for Virginia, he gets frantic when he can't find her.

He yanks the sheets off the bed and shakes them out. Gets on his hands and knees and searches under the bed for her, he checks Marlow's cot and the living room even though he _knows_ he had her in bed last night.

Slumping to the floor in a pile of sheets Stiles stares aimlessly around at everything that doesn't belong in his apartment but found a home here anyway.

It takes him a while to muster up the desire and the energy to move. The sheets stay on the floor and Stiles goes through the motions of showering, shaving and brushing his teeth. He gets dressed for work unthinkingly and packs his laptop and the Hennessy file into his bag.

For the first time since he started Stiles doesn't want to go to work. He knows he must. He's self-aware enough that he'd fall into some destructive behaviours if he doesn’t occupy his mind and what better way than to solve the murder of Marlow's parents.

So, what if his motivation is that in the distant future an adult Marlow looks it up and sees his name, and Stiles imagines a reunion with a grown Marlow only he can't picture her face and Peter's standing by his side as they reunite. There's no one to call him on the impossibilities of his imagination.

Begrudgingly Stiles leaves his apartment, he sees stupid Stacey as she’s coming up the hallway. She waves brightly and he just nods miserably at her. The elevator is empty, which is a blessing, until it's not. It stops on level two and Stiles curses his luck when Mrs Moskovitz steps on.

"My dear you look dreadful."

"Thanks Mrs M." Stiles gives her a wry smile. "I'm sorry about yesterday. On the rooftop."

She flaps a hand at him, "not to worry. Did you sort things with Peter?"

Shaking his head, Stiles rasps out "he left."

"I am sorry dear." Mrs Moskovitz rests a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "And little Marlow?"

"We- babysitting is over." The elevator gets blurry and Stiles scrubs harshly at his eyes until the stinging tears go away. "I have to get to work." Stiles rushes out the elevator as soon as it opens leaving Mrs Moskovitz standing there. She'll understand, she always does.

*

The bullpen is fuller today than it had been yesterday. Dash Jones and Dermot Johnstone, jeer at Stiles as he comes in. He flips them off as he goes to sit at his desk.

"Hey Stiles, happy new year."

"Yeah you too, Adam"

"You okay?" Adam asks, he couches down so he can look into Stiles' eyes. "You look terrible."

"I'm fine."

"Stiles-"

"I said I'm fine!" Stiles shouts. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Ooo trouble in paradise?" Jones mocks.

Johnstone cackling beside him. "Lover’s tiff?"

"Fuck off." Stiles snaps. Adam looks at him worriedly. Stiles tries to give him a reassuring smile. "I'm sorry, I'm fine Adam, thank you for asking."

"Sure. If you need me to kick anyone's ass you let me know." Adam claps Stiles on the shoulder before walking away.

Stiles goes through the day in a haze, he gets a surprising amount of work done but what specifically couldn't say. At six in the evening Stiles makes his weary way home. His apartment is cold and dark and empty. Bed sheets still in a pile in front of the couch from where he’d left them that morning.

The crushing despair at how alone Stiles is makes him pick up the phone he thumbs through his contacts finger hovering over his dad’s name. But Stiles knows his dad will just tell him he shouldn’t have gotten attached. Scott’s just going to be positive about it, Derek’s not going to do much more than grunt and Stiles doesn’t have the guts to call Peter. Not when Peter made it so clear that he doesn’t want to be with Stiles.

So, he calls the pizza place for a delivery and waits twenty minutes in the almost dark until it arrives. Stiles had turned on his bedroom light then partially shut the door. He eats a couple of slices of the pizza in the dim lighting.

All Stiles wants to do is cry.

He’s never felt so defeated before. Stiles has always had a desire to fight but it seems to have left him when he gave up Marlow. Shoving the pizza box in the fridge Stiles takes a quick shower and goes to sleep on the bare mattress with the duvet over him and face pressed against Peter’s pillow.

It’s the lowest he’s ever felt.

*

The next couple of days progress in a similar fashion. Stiles goes to work, does some things that progress the Hennessy case forward marginally and then he comes home, has takeaways or leftover takeaways for dinner and goes to sleep on the bare mattress.

Just before he leaves for work on a Wednesday a knock sounds at the door. Stiles yanks it open.

“Hey neighbour.” It’s Stacey.

“Peter’s not here.” Stiles says bluntly.

She grimaces and holds out another Tupperware box, this one has a whole chocolate cake in it. He still hasn’t given her back the first one even though he did eat all the cupcakes in it. “I noticed he wasn’t around and that little gorgeous baby’s gone too. This is my breakup cake.”

“What?”

“Break up cake. It’s rich, chocolatey goodness. But there’s a rule.” Stacey goes serious. “You wallow for as long as you have the cake and when it’s gone, you pick yourself up, dust yourself and get on with life because fuck him, right?”

“Fuck who?” Stiles scratches at the scruff on his jaw.

“Peter. If he’s going to leave you and take that baby with him, you deserve better.” Stacey pushes the box into his chest and Stiles is forced to take it. She nods once, then spins to go back to her place.

“Hey Stacey?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Stacey smiles, bright and beautiful. “Any time neighbour.” She gives a jaunty wave before disappearing into her apartment. Stiles closes his own door and stares at the cake, then up at the mess of his place.

Making a decision, he takes off his clothes and has a shower. He washes his hair for the first time in days and shaves off the stupid scruff on his face. Unlike Peter, Stiles never really grew a full beard, just a scraggly half-assed smattering of hair.

Stiles cuts a slice of the cake and puts it in Stacey’s first Tupperware box then he takes the cake and its box with him to work. Stacey is right, he needs to stop moping and move on from Peter.

“Morning Stiles.”

“Hey Adam.”

Adam grins as he falls into step with Stiles. “You’re looking better.”

“I feel better. Got a kick up the ass from my neighbour.”

Adam puts a hand on Stiles’ arm and they come to a stop, he looks at Stiles, brown eyes warm and kind. “Do you want to get a drink with me after work?” Adam asks, then adds on, “as a date.”

“Thank you, for asking but not today.” Stiles is flattered, though Peter’s voice goes through his mind _he'd like you on your back in his bed_. Stiles isn’t ready for that just yet.

Adam frowns. “It’s because of him, isn’t it? Your baby daddy.”

“No, it’s because of me.” Stiles says firmly. “I’m sulking.”

“When you’re not sulking anymore, let me know. It’s not a one-time only offer,” Adam grins as he nudges Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles laughs and they continue into the bullpen.

Cap is standing by Stiles’ desk. “Stilinski. You’re with me today.”

“Um, okay.” Stiles sets his bag and the cake on his desk.

Cap eyes him seriously, she seems to focus more on the air around Stiles than on Stiles himself. “You’ve done some good work on the Hennessy case. Your instincts were spot on, the black and whites you ordered to watch the Prata brothers has turned up some evidence. Drugs, bombs, illegal weapons. Are you ready to arrest them?”

“Yes ma’am.” Stiles double checks his gun is holstered properly and that he has his badge on him. He doesn’t remember ordering the uniformed officers to check on the brothers, hell, he barely recognises the Prata name as one of the possible suspects he’d gotten from Monroe and Chris.

“The black and whites will meet us there. The brothers are in their apartment. They don’t know we’re coming.” Cap gives him a serious look.

The apartment the Pratas are in is in Manhattan, about half an hour’s drive from their precinct. Stiles sits in the passenger seat and fiddles with the buttons on his coat. “Cap?”

“What is it Stilinski?”

“How’s Marlow?” Stiles knows he shouldn’t ask but he’s desperate to know that she’s okay.

“That part of the case is over Stilinski.”

“I know but-”

“There are no buts, Stilinski. You don’t get attached or you lose your head. She’s gone, she’s out your life, get over it.” Cap’s voice is hard and cold. “Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Nothing more is said until they arrive at their destination. Stiles and Cap both put bullet proof vests on under their coats. Stiles follows her up the stairs of the fancy apartment building, uniformed officers have surrounded the perimeter so if one or both brothers tries to escape they’ll get caught. Probably. Hopefully.

Cap knocks on the door. “This is Captain Phillips with the NYPD. Open up.”

There’s some muffled thumps and shouts from inside. Stiles doesn’t hear anything else except a high-pitched whine. He looks up and sees flames licking at the debris of the busted door and walls. He’s not harmed, Cap is lying on the floor next to him, her arm up and an opaque blue shield of magic has covered them.

When she notices Stiles looking, it disappears and the sounds come flooding back in. It’s overwhelming. There’s so much noise, the smell of burning flesh and the heat of the fire cause Stiles to panic. His breathing becomes too fast, he can’t concentrate, can’t focus on counting or slowing himself down.

The world goes black.

*

When Stiles comes to he’s on a gurney in the back of an ambulance. The paramedic gives him a reassuring smile “welcome back.” He’s an older man with a gruff voice. “Easy now, detective, you’ve had some serious smoke inhalation.”

There’s a mask covering Stiles’ mouth, he tries to take it off as he sits up. The paramedic lets him sit up but puts the mask back in place. Stiles coughs when he tries to talk. “Wha-”

“What happened?” When Stiles nods the paramedic, sort of shrugs. “Hard to know. An explosion, the guys you were after blew the place up. You and your captain were lucky you were as far down the hallway as you were or you’d both be dead.” Stiles frowns, he knows they hadn’t been down the hallway at all.

Cap appears in the open doorway of the ambulance. “Can I have the room?” The paramedic leaves immediately. She climbs in, Cap has soot over her face and clothes and there’s frayed edges of her sleeves where they’ve been burned. “You doing alright, Stilinski?”

“Yeah,” Stiles manages to get out before coughing again.

“Take a few days off to recover. The case is closed, George Prata died in the explosion. A suicide bomb to let his brother escape. We’ve got John Prata in custody now.”

“They blew up-” Stiles coughs and then coughs some more.

“They blew up the Hennessy car.”

Stiles nods, “they blew us up too.”

Cap grimaces and looks around. “What do you remember about the explosion?”

“Not a lot.” Cap is patient as Stiles talks around gasping breaths and deep coughing fits. “I had a panic attack because I couldn’t breathe, we were right outside the door and- and your shield.” Stiles lowers his voice. “I could see it.”

“You saw it?” Cap asks sharply.

“I won’t say anything. I’ve been dealing with the Supernatural since I was sixteen.” Stiles admits. “I’m part of the Beacon Hills McCall-Hale Pack.”

With a nod, Cap says “I thought as much. Official word is they heard us coming and we were down the hallway. Not a word of anything else, do you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am. No magic talk whatsoever.”

Cap is looking satisfied and she steps out of the ambulance. “Good work on the case Stilinski.”

“Cap? I want to be at the interrogation.”

“You’ve just been blown up, Stilinski.”

Stiles nods. “I need to see this through.”

“Alright. But you’re at the hospital first. Prata can sweat it out for a few hours.”

“Thanks.” Stiles coughs, “and Cap? I prefer my usual cases.”

“Noted.” Cap’s gone in the blink of an eye and the paramedic is back forcing Stiles to lie back as he sucks down more oxygen.

*

Stiles had to go to the hospital for a chest x-ray and a doctor's note for three days off work. He’d dropped it off at the precinct, been welcomed by applause before he’d shuffled his way to the observation chamber next to the interrogation room where Prata was being held.

Prata looks exactly like the photo the police have of him in the database only bloodier. He’s got cuts over his face and torso where glass shards from the explosion had caught him off guard. Cap is in the room; she’s sitting calmly opposite Prata.

“Tell me about the Henesseys.”

Nothing but silence.

Cap shrugs. “Your brother is dead, blown into so many pieces that we identified him by his thumb, the biggest part of him left. You’re looking at life for his death alone, add in the two from the Hennessey car bomb. John, your best bet is to plea bargain. You give us what we want and we’ll help you.”

“Go to hell,” Prata spits on the table in front of Cap.

“Suit yourself.” Cap gets up and leaves the room. She’s joining Stiles behind the glass moments later. “I don’t know if he’s going to talk.”

“Let me at him.” Stiles asks, then he coughs. He pulls out the inhaler to suck it down.

“Stilinski you’re not qualified for this.”

“Says who?” Stiles squares his shoulders. “I’ve interviewed suspects before.”

Cap nods, “not for murder and not a-” she lowers her voice even though they’re the only ones in there, “-hunter.”

“If I can stand up to Christopher, Kate and Gerard _Argent_ , he’s small fry.” Stiles wipes his mouth on his sleeve, “at least let me try.”

“Ten minutes.”

“And Cap, I may need some uh-” he waggles his fingers “-censorship.”

With a sigh she gives a brief nod. Stiles notices once he’s shut the door behind him the blue hazy glow around the edges of the interrogation room. He moves slowly to sit in the seat Cap had vacated. Prata smirks, he clearly doesn’t think Stiles is much of a cop.

“Tell me about the kid.” Stiles leans back, it burns his lungs.

Prata is silent. The clock is ticking though and Stiles needs to get a breakthrough before Cap pulls him out. He can do this; he’s just got to prove it. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I know. The Hennesseys were werewolves, you’re a Hunter and so was your brother. You wanted to get in on some of the bigger action so you had to prove to whoever that you’re the shit. With your record and the mounting evidence at your apartment that you blew up when we arrived… it wasn’t difficult to put two and two together to get four.”

Stiles coughs. He raises an eyebrow, Prata has gone a little pale but he’s still quiet.

“You put two and two and got five.” Prata snaps.

With a fake laugh Stiles says, “that’s not impossible with the rules of mathematics and some rounding. Look, I don’t give a fuck who you wanted to impress. You’ve pissed off the McCall-Hale Pack of Beacon Hills. We have an alliance with the Argents. You’re fucked. You're done in the Hunter world. I can do you a deal.”

“What.”

“I’ll put you in prison and you’ll be safe from the Hunter community and the Pack.”

“No deal.”

“Okay. Then we’ll go through the legal system, you’ll still go to prison for a long time but when you get out they’ll be waiting.”

“You can’t do this.” Prata is sweating now.

“Watch me,” Stiles snarls. “No one can hear you. This room is warded.”

Prata lets out a yell and he lurches forward chains of the handcuffs keeping him from coming anywhere close to Stiles. “You’re a cop, you have to protect me.”

“I’m a member of the Beacon Hills Pack first and foremost. Who do you think got the argents in line to get a treaty? It wasn’t the True Alpha, it was his second in command.” Stiles bares his teeth viciously. “ _Me._ ”

Stiles goes quiet and watches Prata closely, when his shoulders slump and defeat is worn over his frame Stiles says “here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to tell me the truth and then you’re going to write it down. Do you hear me?”

“Yes sir.” Prata murmurs.

“Tell me about the baby.”

“We didn’t know they had a kid. The monsters, I mean. There’s a chance the kid could be human, we couldn’t kill an innocent human.”

Stiles grits his teeth together to stop from saying that the Hennesseys were innocent. It wouldn’t do any good with a bigot like Prata.

“We took it, the kid. Put her in our car and drove away, the monsters got into their care to follow and boom.” Prata starts to laugh. “It was glorious. Gone in an instant. The kid started to cry so George put it in a nearby bush, the cops were on their way, we had to get out before anyone saw us.”

“You didn’t.” Stiles replies calmly. “Someone did see you. Saw George kidnapping Marlow Hennessey and then putting her into the bush near the burning wreck of her parents’ car. We got a sketch.” Stiles shows him the picture the sketch artist drew of George, it’s a reasonable likeness. He then hands Prata a pad and a pen. “Start fucking writing.”

*

By the time Stiles gets home the explosion is on the news. A picture of Stiles’ face is shown alongside the story as the officer who was hospitalised in the line of duty.. His phone rings a few minutes later.

“Hello.”

“You got blown up?”

“Hey Scotty. I didn’t get blown up. I was just near the explosion.” Stiles coughs. “Smoke inhalation. I’m home and fine.” He looks around at his apartment, it’s still full of Marlow’s toys and Peter’s jumper, the one he’d worn the first day he’d arrived. “Hey Scott, I’m going to call you back.” Stiles hangs up before Scott can say anything else.

Even though his lungs protest Stiles gets up and makes himself a cup of tea, gets the piece of cake and eats it at the dining table. When it’s all gone Stiles bundles the pile of sheets up and puts them in the hamper, he can’t make it to the laundry room today. He makes the bed in fits and starts, stopping to cough and breathe and take the inhaler the hospital gave him.

Stiles empties out the fridge of leftovers. He tidies away Marlow’s playmat and the few toys left, puts them in the pushchair which he shoves into his wardrobe. Stiles is exhausted. He needs to finish this today though or he’ll just dwell.

The cot gets dismantled and put back into the box, it’s long and thin and fits under Stiles’ bed easily. The only things Stiles can’t bring himself to put away are the books, _I Love You To The Moon And Back_ and _Papa Please Get The Moon For Me_ are put on the tv cabinet next to the screen. And Peter’s jumper, Stiles puts it away in his drawer. It’s only fair right? Peter stole Stiles’ jumper; it doesn’t mean anything.

Lastly Stiles grabs his phone and searches through the internet to find a number he’s not supposed to ring.

“Hello, Child Protective Services, this is Sophia Matrick.”

“Ms Matrick, it’s Detective Stilinski here.”

“Hi there. How can I help?”

Stiles wets his lips, his lungs are burning, “I just wanted to follow up on Marlow Hennessy.”

“Of course, she was a sweet little thing. Don’t you worry about her, she’s doing just fine.”

“Oh,” Stiles says weakly, “that’s great.”

“I will let you know, detective, because it won’t go any further. The first family didn’t work out but she’s really become attached to someone else and in a couple of weeks all the paperwork will be complete and Marlow will be in her new forever home.”

“Great. That’s great, thank you.”

“No problem, detective. You have a good day.”

Stiles hangs up and coughs. It’s definitely over now.

With nothing to keep him back, Stiles forces himself to make another phone call. “Adam?” he says when the dial tone stops.

“Yeah, Stiles? How are you?”

“I’m okay. So, uh, about that date.”

*

It’s a Saturday two weeks later when Stiles is getting ready for his date with Adam. Their schedules didn’t align because of work until today. Stiles has been spending more time at the precinct, he is self-aware enough to admit that it’s easier to stay at work than go home to his apartment that’s cold, empty and lifeless without Peter and Marlow there to welcome him home.

Stiles is wearing Peter’s jumper because it’s the smartest and warmest one he owns now. Stiles stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, he looks good enough and Adam is nice enough but he’s not Peter. And if Stiles is honest with himself, Peter is the man he’s in love with except he’d left. Stiles had to pick up the pieces alone.

He’s due to meet Adam at the bar so he’s a little confused when a knock sounds. Maybe it’s Stacey with some more baked goods, they’ve formed a strange friendship based on food. She bakes cakes and biscuits and Stiles gives her the leftovers of the dinners he makes.

When he opens the door, Stiles is stunned. “What are you doing here?” Stiles looks Peter over and sees him holding a carrier with Marlow sleeping in it. Stiles leans in to whisper harshly “did you kidnap her?”

“No.” Peter is amused, if the smirk around his mouth is anything to go by. “I adopted her.”

“You did what now?”

Peter steps in closer, “you heard me just fine. It was easy enough, I told them we have a Pack-bond. It’s not even a lie.”

“Jesus Christ, Peter.” Stiles scratches at his forehead, not quite comprehending what’s happening.

“Sweetheart, I’m not the only one she has a Pack-bond with.”

That causes Stiles to bark out a bitter laugh. “Great so I get visitation rights.”

Shifting slightly, Peter puts the carrier on the floor by their feet, Stiles glances down at Marlow. She’s sound asleep, and he notices Virginia tucked in against her shoulder. Peter must have taken her the day he left.

It’s heartbreakingly hard to stare at her. Warm hands on either side of his jaw force Stiles to look at Peter. “Stiles.” Peter seems to brace himself; he tenses a little and his face gets that blank expression when he thinks he’s not going to get what he wants. “I want us to come home.”

He knocks Peter’s hands from his face then pushes forward to pull Peter into a tight hug. “How could you think I wouldn’t want you both back?” Stiles whispers.

Peter pulls back, they’re close enough that Stiles can count his eyelashes, in an unspoken moment of agreement they surge together. Their mouths meet, soft and just as breath taking as their first kiss had been. Only this isn’t going to end the same way. Stiles sweeps his tongue along Peter’s lower lip before pulling back. “How long has she been asleep?” Stiles picks up the carrier in both arms. He walks inside and sets it down on the dining table. Marlow is as adorable as ever. Carefully, with a barely there touch, Stiles slides a finger across her cheek.

“About half an hour. She fell asleep in the car” Peter replies, shutting the door behind him. He looks around, eyes landing on what had been left behind, his jumper that Stiles is wearing and most importantly the two books. “You didn’t get rid of them?”

“I couldn’t.” Stiles admits softly. He watches as Peter gazes around the room again, then he saunters forward to put his arms around Stiles’ shoulders. Immediately Stiles wraps his arms around his waist and they’re kissing again. It’s warm, comforting like they’ve done this so many times with just enough heat that makes it new and exciting.

Stiles’ phone rings and Peter breaks the kiss. “Do you need to get that?”

“It’s probably Adam.” Stiles admits pulling away from Peter to pick his phone off the couch. It rings again so he answers it, “hey Adam.”

“Are you lost, Stiles?” Adam is teasing and Stiles sighs. He catches sight of the disapproving look on Peter’s face. “You’re not coming, are you?”

“No, Adam I’m not. Something came up.” Adam doesn’t say anything. “I’m sorry, you’re a great guy and one day you’ll date someone who deserves you but it’s not me.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll see you at work.” Adam hangs up.

Peter has crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re dating him now?”

“No. Not really,” Stiles amends. “Today was supposed to be the first date. You don’t get to judge me, Peter. You left.”

“It was too hard to stay.” Peter admits quietly.

“Yes, it was.” Stiles thinks back on how long he’d wallowed in his misery. “But you can go the fuck right back out that door if you can’t be with me, without Marlow.”

“Stiles, sweetheart, I love _you_. I am not used to grieving with others. I spent six years alone mourning my Pack. Until you and Marlow I didn’t have anyone worth mourning anymore. I’ve already lost one child. Giving Marlow up felt like losing Harrison all over again. I didn’t cope with it.” Peter’s lips quirk upwards in a self-deprecating manner. “I’m here to bring our family, our Pack back together.”

“Okay,” Stiles answers hoarsely and he’s in Peter’s embrace quicker than he’s ever moved before. “We can’t stay here for much longer though, she’s going to outgrow the space. And I want to have sex with you without her in the room because that’s icky.”

Peter laughs and kisses Stiles, hot and deep. “I have a house, upstate in Salisbury Mills.”

It’s one of the most expensive areas in upstate New York, Stiles rolls his eyes, “of course you do.”

“I’m still waiting, sweetheart.”

“For what?” Stiles blinks at him.

“I told you I love you.”

Stiles is smirking now, he knows what Peter is wanting. “Yes, yes you did.” He leans in to kiss Peter again, just because he’s allowed to now. There’s a soft snuffle from the dining table and Stiles pulls back to see Marlow blinking sleepily. “Hey baby girl.” Peter lets Stiles go to her easily, he smiles softly at them both as Stiles picks her up and holds her close.

“See, Marlow,” Peter says smugly as if he isn’t talking to a four month old. “Papa promised he’d take you to see Daddy, didn’t I?”

Chest aching with so much love for these too werewolves Stiles doesn’t know what to do first. He kisses Marlow’s cheeks and moves across to kiss him too. “I love you, both of you. Hear that, baby girl, Daddy loves you.”

Marlow squeals happily.

“Yes,” Peter agrees with a smile, hand cupping the back of Marlow’s head and his other arm around Stiles waist. “I feel the same way.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> Lobo is Spanish for wolf. Accalia is She-Wolf in Latin. Conan is Irish for hound/wolf. Virginia as in Virginia Woolf won the day. 
> 
> Prata is Gaelic/Portuguese for silver. 
> 
> Wolf info from here
> 
> Four month old baby info from here, though some of it was based on my own experiences with four month olds.
> 
> Quotes for Papa Please Get The Moon For Me from here
> 
> Title and series title comes from this (and yes, this is why Marlow’s middle name is May): 
> 
> “Flowers only, and the moonlight-coloured May.”  
> — Virginia Woolf, from The Complete Works; “The Waves,” published c. 1931
> 
> [I'm on tumblr](https://cathcer1984.tumblr.com/)


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